Dissolution
by liviafan1
Summary: It can never be enough, making up for all the time they've missed. She laughs, full and rich, shaking with it and it's infectious. He grins, pressing his forehead against hers as he watches the light fill her face. He lets the backs of his fingers graze her cheek, overwhelmed by her, by this, them-Everything. COMPLETE.
1. Prologue

**Now**

"Do you have a place to stay?" he rasps, watching with bleary eyes as she shoves a few more sweaters into her black duffel bag. He catches a flash of brown Angora, the one he bought her for their first Christmas together because he knew it'd bring out her eyes. She always looks so soft in it, simple and gorgeous.

He blinks away the memory, watching as her face hardens. "Does it really matter?"

"Of course it matters," he growls, fisting the comforter of their—_his_ bed in his hand. "I need to make sure that you're at least safe."

She snorts. "You're a real piece of work." She stomps to the bathroom that they used to share, bag in hand, and whips the medicine cabinet open, tossing anything and everything into it.

"Just answer the damn question, Kate."

She heaves a sigh, her body curving over the sink as her hair hangs over her face. He shoves his hands under his legs to keep from going to her and crashing her into his body, lips against her head, arms around her waist.

But she chose this, no matter what she says.

He watches, his breathing turning shallow as her left hand wraps around her neck, her fingers kneading the tension. Her ring glints under the light as her fingers work over her muscles. He swallows hard, wonders if this is the last time he'll see it on her finger.

"There's an opening in my old building," she says quietly.

His body relaxes a little under the relief. Maybe he can sleep a little easier knowing that she's under as much protection as she'll give herself.

_Maybe he can sleep a little easier_. Yeah, right.

He scrubs a hand down in his face, willing the tears and the exhaustion away until he's alone in the dark, wrapped around the pillow that will still smell like her when she's gone.

God, he's pathetic.

He leaves her alone in the harsh light of the room, under a flickering bulb that they'd once deemed romantic while they were buried under the covers loving each other. He can't bring himself to watch as she removes the last parts of her from their bedroom.

From his life.

He pads into the kitchen, his feet bare and cold against the floor. His stomach grumbles and he should probably scrounge up something to eat, but his whole body wracks with nausea.

He grabs a glass of water and settles down onto a stool, breathing deeply through his nose. He should find his phone since he promised Alexis he'd check in today and it's almost seven o'clock. But then she'll want to talk to him on the phone and he knows he's not up for that. He'll try his best to disguise his voice and fail miserably, all the while guilt-tripping her into coming home to be with him. She'd been worried about him, rightfully so, and he knows that he won't be able to convince her to stay at school.

And if he can't have Kate, he'd rather be alone to mourn the end of his marriage.

He sips his water, wincing as it hits his hoarse, aching throat. The fights, the bitterness, and the tears echo through his head and his eyes swim under the weight of it all.

_We can't do this anymore._

_I'll always love you._

_You're not the person I married._

_I'm moving out._

His fingers scrape harshly against the island, his head pounding furiously. He doesn't know how it got this bad, how they've reached this point, yet every argument and act of desperation is seared into his brain, sharp and clear.

His hand slams against the glass in front of him and he relishes the way it shatters against the wall and onto the floor. In his stupor, he remembers that he isn't alone and blindly reaches for the broken pieces.

"What the hell, Rick?"

He cranes his neck to find her nostrils flaring, hands on her hips. And then he's gasping in pain as the glass cuts his skin, a consequence of his lack of attention.

"Jesus," she mutters as she reaches for him. Her hand circles his wrist and her palm is almost warm, but her fingers are cold and sharp under the weight she's lost. She leads him to the sink, a gentle hand pressed against his shoulder.

She turns the faucet on, averting her gaze from his. She lets out a breath, pushes his injured hand under the running water. He winces and her eyes find his, haunted and empty.

"You can't do this," she says hoarsely. "I can't be worried about you on top of…" she trails off and he feels the anger flare inside of him.

"On top of what, Kate?" he bites out.

"Everything else," she finishes flatly, swimming away from his bait. He isn't done, not by a long shot, but then she's mumbling under her breath about getting something for his hand. She leaves him there, the cold water sluicing painfully over his cut.

She's back in a matter of seconds with a bandage and some peroxide. She shuts off the water and takes his hand in both of hers, her touch light and soft. She dabs a pit of peroxide onto a cotton ball and presses it against his wound. He inhales sharply and her scent wafts through his nose. His heart contracts painfully as his eyes brim with tears, from the pain or _her, _he isn't sure.

As her fingers nimbly wrap the gauze around his hand, his memory flashes back to the first time she's done this for him, in the back of an ambulance after he punched Lockwood.

How far they've come since then and yet some things have remained the same.

Her fingers graze the inside of his wrist, where his pulse thrums through his body.

And then she's done, hands dropped at her side. And he misses her, doesn't think, just acts as one of his hands finds her waist and his other hand trembles a little against her head, clutching her cheek.

"Castle," she warns, her voice breaking as he pulls her to him. His last name on her lips anchors her to him in all the ways that it used to and for a minute he can pretend that everything will be all right.

His mouth hovers in the lightest of touches against her forehead, a whisper of a kiss. Her hands fist his tee shirt in a vice grip, hard and desperate. He hears her deep, harsh breaths over the low hum of the icemaker. Her tears are hot and wet against his shirt, sinking into his heart.

He can't take it anymore. His hands fumble against the side of her face, clumsily forcing her head up. The pit of his stomach bottoms out at the wrenching pain he finds in her eyes. He closes his eyes against it and blindly presses his mouth hotly to hers.

It's harsh, biting, and _all wrong_, but he needs her, any part of her. Her body stiffens and he feels her hands push against his chest at first, protesting. But then his mouth finds that spot at her neck, the one that makes her sag against his body. She lets out a shaky sigh as her fingers curl around his neck, giving him a free pass for now.

His hands slip under her sweatshirt, canting her body further into his. He groans against her clavicle as her nails scrape against his head in a frenzy. He spins them and crashes them into the island, rolling his body into hers. She lets out a deep moan as her teeth find his ear, nipping harshly.

_Oh. _The need is overwhelming now, swallows him whole. He wants her under him, naked and writhing one last time before he lets her go forever.

He bunches her sweatshirt in his hands, sliding it up over her thin frame. She breaks from him on a gasp as he whips it over her head, tossing it onto the floor. And then her mouth is on his again, tugging at his lips as her hands roam his body, fingers scraping against his skin. Her mouth is salty and warm and _God,_ she's still crying.

But when her palm slides easily down his face, he knows she's not alone.

"It doesn't have to be this way," she whispers against his skin. She nuzzles against his neck in a gesture of love. And oh, he wants to hope. He wants to hope so badly.

"Has your decision changed?" he asks, bracing himself against the words he knows are coming.

"You know it hasn't."

And then he's removing her hands from his body and stepping away from her, shaking his head.

"It takes two people to end a marriage, Rick," she bites, smoothing her fingers over her swollen lips.

"You made this decision, Kate. Not me."

"That's not fair and you know it."

He lets out a harsh, deprecating laugh. "What part of this is fair?" He presses his palm against his head in frustration and it's the _same damn argument_ over and over.

"You tell me," she starts, eyes flashing, "What kind of a man asks his wife to choose between him and her mother?"

"If you think that's what I'm asking of you, then you're not the woman I fell in love with," he says quietly, his heart ripping to shreds as the words fall from his mouth.

Her mouth closes, any readied retort dead on her lips. Her spine stiffens as she stares at him for a moment, cold and weary.

"Fuck you."

And he feels the last part of him die as she walks out of their home together, slamming the door shut behind her.

* * *

**I promise not to shatter your hearts completely. Good stuff, too.**

**Thoughts?**

**Liv**


	2. Chapter 1

**Something a little lighter to break up the angst-fest.**

* * *

**Then**

_He's going to marry this woman someday._

It's all he can think about as she laces her left hand through his, her thumb rubbing over the back of his hand as she listens intently to a story Lanie's recalling. He pictures the sparkler on her hand, simple, beautiful, and completely _her._

It's been six months since they started dating, since that night that she'd come to him, dripping wet with heavy apologies waiting on her lips. She tasted like heaven and _home_ that night and he's been even more consumed by her ever since.

He's more than willing to take it slow, to let her set the pace because he knows this is it for him.

For them.

She nudges him gently in his side with her elbow, eliciting his attention. She knows he isn't paying attention, hasn't been for the last several minutes because he's too entranced with her fingers and the way they fit perfectly in his.

He tunes into the conversation just in time to hear, "Your boy's looking a little lovesick tonight." His eyes snap from their spot on the table to Esposito's amused, if a little disgusted, expression.

The heat creeps up his neck in mild embarrassment. "Six months today," Kate says, soft and happy as she gives his hand a gentle squeeze. His lips part as he shifts his attention to her and the wide smile that blooms over her face. Her lips twitch playfully in response and he knows that she didn't forget like he thought.

He really underestimates her sometimes.

"And you're spending it with us?" Lanie asks, humming in disapproval.

Kate slowly turns her attention back to her best friend, shrugging. "We haven't had a chance to catch up in a while and I didn't think he'd mind." She tugs on her bottom lip after she speaks, and yeah, she probably should've checked with him first, but he doesn't mind. Not really. Because tonight she'll come home with him, hold him, love him.

And really, how can he deny her some much-needed time with their friends when she comes home to him almost every night? Maybe at one time in his life he was that selfish, but not since she's blown into his life.

She's made him want to be a better man.

He feels her thwack him in the shin and he opens his mouth to protest as his eyes tear up and—oh yeah, this is the part where he's supposed to say that he really doesn't mind.

"Y-Yeah, I really don't mind," he stumbles weakly, rubbing his hand gingerly over his leg as he throws her a look.

"And," Esposito interjects enthusiastically, nudging Lanie, "our new anniversary's coming up. Maybe we can hit the Knicks game with Ryan and…" he trails off, his face falling as his girlfriend glares at him. He clears his throat and rests his mouth on his fist, wisely shutting up.

"Keep dreaming, Javier Esposito."

"Girl, you know I was just playing." He lets out a forced laugh as Lanie rolls her eyes and shakes her head, turning back to Kate. He almost misses the Hispanic detective wince as his attention is called to the buzzing of his phone in the pocket of his coat. He pulls it out and considers ducking into a quiet corner to answer the call, but then he feels Kate's hand fall to his thigh, warm and heavy.

He bites back a groan, his thumb hovering over the incoming call.

And then her finger trails dangerously up his thigh and—

He swallows hard, the heat of her hand scalding his skin even through the denim of his jeans.

_Oh._

It's an unknown number, anyway.

He hastily pockets his phone and covers her hand with his, sliding it to a safer place further down his thigh.

"We should probably head out soon," he hears Kate say. "I think Castle's getting a little restless," she gently slaps his leg for effect, cocking her head in his direction, a teasing smile for his eyes only.

Restless, hmm?

"Is that what the kids are calling it these days?" Lanie asks, interrupting their moment. Kate grins, her eyes light as she bumps him out of the booth to say their goodbyes.

"Enjoy your day off tomorrow, Beckett," Javier grumbles.

"Thanks Javi," she responds pleasantly, as if she missed the sarcasm threaded through his tone.

Ah, but there's the roll of her eyes he's come to know and love.

"Lunch tomorrow, Lane?" she asks, flipping her hair over the collar of her coat as he helps her slip into it.

Castle feels himself deflate a little bit, kind of cleared his full day of Black Pawn meetings to spend the day with her.

But what's a couple of hours, really?

He immediately straightens up, poker face on as Lanie's gaze slides to him.

"How about you call me tomorrow?" Lanie says knowingly, flicking her eyes back to Kate.

Oh, he owes her one.

Kate shrugs, nothing amiss, and leads him out of the bar after he gives Espo a quick fist pound and mouths Lanie a "Thank you".

"Do you mind if we walk for a bit?" she asks, taking a deep breath of the crisp night air. He holds his hand out for her take, smiling gently in response.

They walk easily, enjoying each other's company, arms swinging between their bodies.

"I think I owe you an apology," she says quietly.

He shakes his head. "Kate—"

"It didn't occur to me that you might think that I forgot about today." She pauses, tugging at her lip. "But you've been on my mind all day," she admits, a blush tingeing her cheeks.

Oh, he wishes he'd been with her today instead of at home, writing and preparing for the meetings he only ended up canceling.

"I didn't expect you to remember," he confesses. "But I'm glad you did."

Her eyes shine, full and light as she stops him in their slow trek, pulling gently at his arm. Her hands cup the sides of his face as her thumb brushes over his lips, slow and smooth.

She presses her mouth to his, soft and glorious. He sifts his hands slowly through her hair as he sips at her lips, relishing the low hums of pleasure that emit from her. Mmm.

"Take me home," she mumbles against his mouth.

_Home._

* * *

It's a matter of minutes before they tumble into bed, a frenzy of limbs and discarded clothing. He can't get enough of her, soon enough, fast enough.

Oh, Kate.

"I want forever with you someday, Katherine Beckett," he confesses against her neck, his fingers slipping easily over her slick skin.

Her moan vibrates through her body, sending a hard shiver down his spine. Her fingernails scrape deliciously across his scalp as she bucks her body into his.

"Forever," she concedes in a whisper against his ear, her tongue dancing along the shell in ways he _never_ thought possible. He groans, blindly reaching for her mouth as her leg wraps around his thigh, pulling him closer. He rocks into her, fisting his hands in the sheets as she lets out a soft, breathy pant against his lips.

"I love you, Kate," he rasps. "God, I love you."

* * *

Her snoring wakes him up, pulls him out of a deep, restful slumber in the wee hours of the morning. He scrubs a hand over his sleepy eyes and rolls out of bed, careful not to wake her.

He shrugs into one of his robes and shuffles into the kitchen, pushing his sleepy, sex-rumpled hair out of his eyes as they adjust to the dark. He trips over his jeans on his way to the sink, his dry throat forgotten as he stubs his toe on the edge of his phone. He curses quietly, reaching down to rub his foot before he pulls the device from the pocket of his pants.

He unlocks the screen, checking for any messages from Alexis or his mother. He frowns as his phone vibrates with a voicemail alert.

Hmm.

He yawns as he sticks the phone between his ear and shoulder, lazily slumping his body against the center kitchen island.

"Mr. Castle," the deep, familiar voice makes him straighten immediately, the hairs on his neck prickling in awareness like they did for the last time six months ago. "You need to call me at this number by three a.m. this morning. If you fail to do so, I can't say when I'll be in a position to contact you again."

Castle swallows hard, a sense of dread slowly creeping up his back.

"It's urgent," is all he hears as the line clicks off.

He hastily ends the call, his heart in his throat as his eyes fly to the analog clock on his phone.

3:47 a.m.

* * *

**A few quick things:**

**1) Updates won't be this frequent. Couldn't bear to leave you guys hanging over chapter one.**

**2) I have no intention of setting Kate Beckett's character development back four years. I know she chose Castle over her mother's case, but humans are flawed. I'm attempting to set this up in a believable way, hence the intrusion of the not-so-mystery guy at the end.**

**Thoughts?**

**Liv**


	3. Chapter 2

**Thanks to Jade (softer) for the wonderful cover art!**

* * *

**Then**

He's reading the morning paper on the couch with her legs curled under him, her nose in a book, when the obituary section falls out, completely on accident.

And if it wasn't for the long, hard shiver that races down his spine, Castle might believe that it _was_ completely on accident. He's only seen this face once, and it was in the dark of night in the middle of a parking garage. And he doesn't recognize the name, but he _wouldn't_ either, only knows him as Smith.

But the way Castle's heart sinks deep into his chest confirms what he knows.

It's him.

Smith is dead.

His eyes scan the short article as his heart pounds furiously, his mouth as dry as the Sahara.

"…an apparent stroke…"

His knuckles tighten around the paper, crinkling it in his fists. Who dies of a stroke in their 50s, anyway?

He tells himself that it's a coincidence. Has to be. He's never believed in coincidences before, things are always as they seem, but he thinks maybe this time he can make an exception.

For her.

His breathing is shallow now and he hopes to God she doesn't notice. But when he allows himself to lift his head, nothing's amiss. She's rubbing at his knee with her thumb, one of the many simple, loving gestures she's shown him since he put that ring on her finger a couple of days ago.

"You're staring," she observes plainly, her eyes remaining on the page.

"What else is new?" he replies quietly, trying to catch his breath.

She smiles, splaying all of her fingers to squeeze his kneecap gently. "Fair enough."

When his gaze returns to his lap, the photo taunts him, squeezes his insides with an iron fist. He lets it fall to the floor, presses his hand to his forehead, his brain buzzing with questions and—

_Oh, God._

He thinks of that damn phone call months ago and how he waited day after day without fail for another one.

What if Smith tried to tell him?

What if—

He swallows.

What if Kate's in danger, too?

Shit. _Shit._ He has to call Lanie. Maybe she can get access to the body if it's not too late or maybe she knows the M.E. or—

Fuck. He'll dig up the body from the grave himself if he has to.

Of course, she chooses that moment to close her book.

"Hey," she prods softly. "You okay? You look a little pale." She slides her feet out from under him, pressing her knees into the soft cushions of the couch. She cards a hand through his hair, her thumb brushing against his cheek. He can't help but lean into her touch, force his eyes away from the concern he finds in her eyes.

He shakes his head, forcing a small smile. "I think I'm just getting a migraine."

She kisses his forehead, her fingers lightly brushing his hairline, as if her touch could erase it by magic. "Why don't you go lay down?" she murmurs. "I could use a nap, anyway." He lifts his head, graces her lips with a tender kiss for her thoughtfulness.

"Sounds perfect." He can call Lanie later and figure out this whole mess when she's otherwise occupied. No need to worry her if he doesn't have to.

He threads his left hand with hers, his fingers slipping over the new piece of metal he finds there. He's still in awe that she said yes, can't believe that he gets to be with this beautiful woman forever.

"Still having a hard time believing it myself," she says softly, breaking through his thoughts as she tugs at her lip through a shy smile.

"It'll be real soon enough," he promises quietly, sliding a hand through her hair as the light in her eyes finds his.

They haven't set a date yet, probably won't for a few weeks, but he doesn't anticipate a long engagement. Neither of them want a big wedding and he'd be happy flying off to a tropical location to elope, though he knows an intimate ceremony on a local beach is more likely, and he's perfectly fine with that, too.

He just wants her.

She leads him to the bedroom, bare feet padding softly across the floor. He follows her, mesmerized by the way the late afternoon sun hits her neck and lights up her face.

He nestles into bed as she slips into a pair of leggings. She slides in next to him, lifting his arm so that she can rest in the curve of his body. She brushes warm fingers against his stubble as she lets out a soft breath against his skin, tickling his neck. He cranes his neck, meeting her mouth for a brief kiss before he snuggles her closer.

"I love you, Kate."

* * *

"You realize how many hoops I had to jump through to get this information?" Lanie asks with raised eyebrows, gesturing to the file in her hands.

"I know, and I _really_ appreciate it." And God, she needs to just tell him, put him out of his misery already.

"You wanna tell me what this is about?" she asks and he doesn't really think it's a question, but no, he doesn't.

"Not really."

And yeah, definitely not the answer she wants to here.

"I'm gonna go out on a limb here and say it's something that you don't your fiancée to know about since she's nowhere to be found."

He clenches his jaw. "Hypothetically speaking, you might be right about that."

Lanie sighs, shaking her head. "Castle—"

"Lanie," he sighs, "Can you please just tell me what the results say and then we can worry about what comes next?"

She purses her lips, but flips the folder open anyway. "It was ruled a homicide."

His fingers find the edge of the autopsy table as his vision blurs at the corners, his knees buckling slightly under his weight. He wonders if _this _is what a migraine feels like.

"A homicide?" he asks weakly, because yeah, he might've been expecting something like this all along, but hoped—_prayed_—that he was wrong.

"Yeah," she says slowly, her eyes carefully examining his change in demeanor.

"Why did the paper report that he had a stroke?" he presses on.

"Because he _did_. But it was caused by an air embolus," she explains. "Someone injected a shot of air into an artery in his neck. Gave him a stroke and he died almost instantly."

"Shit," he mutters, closing his eyes. Shit. He can't—

"You wanna tell me what this is about now, Castle? Who is this man?"

"I know him as Smith," he lets out on a breath. "He—" Castle shakes his head. "He was the man keeping Johanna's killer away from Kate."

"You're sure this is the same man? His name—"

"It's _him_, Lanie," he grates, shooting her a look.

"And you haven't told her?"

He shakes his head. "I wanted to be sure."

"Maybe—" she breaks off, hesitating. "Maybe someone else killed him."

"No."

"How can you be so sure, Castle?"

He hesitates. "It's—it's just a feeling."

Lanie narrows her eyes and he can tell that she doesn't buy his story for a second. "What aren't you telling me?"

He shakes his head. "I'm sure it's nothing."

She crosses her arms over her chest. "We both know that when it involves our girl, it's never nothing. Spill."

"He called me a few months ago, but I—" He pauses, pursing his lips at his own stupidity. "I didn't answer. He left me a message to return his call, but I only had a short window to call him back."

"What'd the message say?"

"That it was probably the last time he'd be able to reach me for a while." He swallows hard. "He said it was urgent," his voice breaks on the last word.

"You didn't tell Kate about this, either, did you?" she asks, disapproval laced through her tone.

He shakes his head. "I got the message too late and I didn't want to worry her when I didn't know what he wanted."

"Rick, you've gotta tell her. What if she's in danger?"

"You think that didn't cross my mind?" he spits, scrubbing a hand down his face. "It's all I've thought about."

"She's changed, you know. She might be okay," she says softly.

"Would you stand down if someone wanted you dead?" he asks. The M.E. goes silent, which tells him everything he needs to know.

"Yeah. That's what I was afraid of."

* * *

**Thoughts?**

**Olivia**


	4. Chapter 3

**Then**

He's lying on the couch in the dark, the absence of light reflecting his mood. He's always been dramatic like his mother in more ways than one, he thinks.

His stomach growls with hunger. She told him she'd be late, didn't say how late, but once ten o'clock rolled around he shoved the pasta into a plastic bowl and stuck it into the refrigerator out of protest. And now that his stomach's growling quite loudly, he isn't sure what exactly he was protesting at all.

Except.

He knows _exactly_ why she's late.

He thought about going down to the precinct earlier (when he was much calmer and she still wasn't abominably late), but he knows how upset she gets when she thinks he's checking up on her. He always thought that he trusted her, but lately he hasn't been so sure.

He watches the time tick by, minute by minute, through bleary eyes. He should really get some sleep if he's going to the precinct with her tomorrow, but maybe he'll just stay home again tomorrow. He's behind his deadline, anyway.

He curls his bare feet into the sofa, pressing his toes against the arm. Any minute now.

He isn't prepared for the bright light that floods his vision after the door swings open. He groans softly, blindly shoving his fist against his eyes.

"Sorry. Thought you'd be in bed." She tosses her jacket over the back of the couch and leans down to kiss him on the temple. "Sweet of you to wait up for me," she says softly, her fingers brushing through his hair.

Damn. She's already melting his anger away and she's only been home for all of a minute.

"Thought you'd be home earlier," he manages roughly as she pulls away from him, swaying easily into the kitchen.

"I did, too. Case ran late." He hears the chink of glass as she grabs cup from the cupboard and sticks it under the running water.

He sits up in his spot, his muscles tensing as he prepares for a confrontation.

"Which case?" He knows his attempt at nonchalance is laughable when her spine stiffens over the sink. The glass falls into the sink, forgotten as she turns around, her eyes hard.

"You know which one."

He purses his lips. "Is this how it's going to be from now on?"

She folds her arms across her chest. "Might be. Til we catch the bastard."

"And when will that be?"

She sighs, running a tired hand through her loose locks. "Do we really need to do this tonight, Rick?" At his silence, she says, "I thought you understood."

He lifts himself from the couch, his body protesting as he makes use of the limbs that have lied restless for hours. "I understood when I thought you'd get somewhere," he bites.

"It's only been four months since he died, Castle. _Four_. We're doing the best we can," she says defensively.

He scrubs a hand down his face. "It's time for another plan."

She shakes her head furiously. "Another plan lets them win. I'm not gonna let that happen."

"So what? You'd rather die?" He lets out a disbelieving laugh that chokes in his throat and suddenly he's reliving conversation after conversation. Déjà fucking vu.

"Don't you think that if they were going to kill me, they would've already done it?" she rasps.

He shakes his head, brushing his palm against the corners of his eyes. She's not listening, _dammit_ she's not, and he can't lose her to this. "No," he lets out, tears filling his eyes. "No, I don't." He takes a step closer to her. "They're waiting for you to let your guard down. They know we're not stupid, Kate. They know we figured out that Smith's death wasn't a random stroke." He clenches his fists at his sides. "They're waiting for us to turn our backs again."

"As far as they know, I've stopped investigating," she protests.

"You think that matters? You're nothing but a loose end to them. Next time, they're not going to hesitate."

"All the more reason to catch them before they do then, Castle. I'm trying to _save_ my life here, not end it."

"Then let's just get out of _here_, go somewhere where they won't find us." She shakes her head as the words spill out of his mouth, desperate and pleading.

"I can't do that."

"You can." His hand grips the edge of the island, tight and sharp in his palm. "You just won't."

"It's not an option—"

"The hell it isn't," he grates.

"Our life together is _here_. Everyone and everything that we love. How can you be willing to give all that up?"

He cards a tight, trembling hand through his hair as he finds the words he's meant to say.

"Because I love you, Kate," he says hoarsely. "You're enough for me."

Her hands drop to her side as she lets out a slow, shaky breath, the fight from her gone. She closes the distance between them, wrapping her arms around him. "I stood before all of our friends and family and I made you a promise."

She lifts a hand to press fiercely against his cheek as their foreheads meet. "I intend to keep that promise, Castle. _As long as we both shall live_." She kisses him, soft and tender, as her eyelashes flutter against his skin. "You will always be more than enough for me." She pauses, brushing a thumb over his lips. "But it shouldn't have to come to that."

They're silent for a few moments, exchanging breaths and gentle touches as they calm the fight in their bodies. He threads a hand through her hair to cup the back of her head so he can kiss her thoroughly.

"I love you," she murmurs in a whisper against his lips, her hand sliding around to his neck.

He sighs, a little shaky, and slides his mouth against her cheek as his eyes slip closed.

"So what now?"

"I don't know," she admits. "Would it help if I promised to come home earlier?"

He frowns, lifting his head. "That wasn't the point—"

"I know," she cuts him off gently, smoothing a thumb over his brow. "I know it wasn't the point," she reiterates softly. "But does it help?"

He nods slowly. "A little."

"Besides," she nudges her nose against his cheek before leaning in to tug at his ear with her teeth, "We haven't spent nearly enough time fulfilling our duties as newlyweds."

He chuckles, low and throaty, allowing her to divert his attention for now. "Every day isn't enough for you?"

"Not nearly," she rasps, canting her body into his. He groans as his hands find her waist, the pads of his fingers slipping against the bare skin under the hem of her sweater.

He lays her down in their bed, worships her body under the flickering bedroom light. She murmurs her love against his skin, soft and sweet, palm at his cheek. He loves her like it's the last time, as if she'll be ripped from him tomorrow.

It isn't until she curls her arm around him, sated and sleepy, that he realizes that they fell into bed without solving anything.

She lasts three days before she's back to the late nights. And when she comes home this time, he's asleep in their bed after shoving a sleeping pill into his mouth hours earlier.

It's the first night in months that they don't make love.

* * *

**Thoughts?**

**Olivia**


	5. Chapter 4

**Haven't forgotten about this. A little behind on the writing.**

* * *

**Then**

There are days when everything is fine, when her mother's case isn't weighing heavily on her mind and Castle isn't looking over his shoulder every ten minutes for a sniper to gun her down.

They're few and far between, those days, but when they come, Castle cherishes them, holds them tightly in his fingers because he never knows when he'll have another day like that.

He feels himself buckling everyday under the strain of everything said and unsaid, but tells himself that it's a waiting game. Once she finds the bastard and kills him or puts him behind bars for the rest of his life, everything will get better. All of the arguments, the fury, the frustration—it'll be behind them.

He's still not onboard with the investigation at all, so he constantly holds his breath and waits for the other shoe to drop. He can't give her up, needs her despite everything, so he sucks it up and hopes it'll end soon.

But he doesn't help her, can't bring himself to be a party to all the danger she's putting herself in.

So at the end of the day when they've wrapped up their case with moments to spare before a new body drop, he goes home. Leaves her to crowd into the interview room with the boys where they've set up camp, complete with a white board and tables sprawled with phone records, financials, rap sheets, cold cases—anything they can get their hands on.

She always dismisses him with a kiss to the cheek, her fingers a little stiff as they wrap around his arm. She's never been okay with the fact that he won't help her. And sometimes when he leaves, the guilt eats away at him as he watches her steel herself for another day chipping away at the mystery, but he has to stay strong. She won't budge and he can't open her eyes to his side of it, so this is the only way he knows how to stand his ground.

Today, though, she comes home with him. He leans into her, ready to say goodbye, tell her that he'll see her at home, when she presses a hand to his chest, warm and solid.

"Just give me a minute to say goodbye to the boys and we'll go, okay?" she asks softly, brushing a kiss against his mouth. He allows himself a hesitant smile before he watches her slip into the room for a moment. When she comes back out, he helps her into her coat like old times and feels his breath catch as she slips her hand into his and leads him onto the elevator without one glance back.

She rests her head on her shoulder, playing with a loose button on his coat as the elevator descends. He closes his eyes, pressing his mouth to her hair as he wraps an arm around her shoulder, keeping her close. God, he misses her.

* * *

Later, she's standing over the stove in his shirt and a pair of shorts, her hair pulled into a messy ponytail as she stirs their favorite homemade pasta. When he slides past her in a pair of jeans and a black tee shirt on his way to the refrigerator, she stops him.

"Here. Taste this." She holds out a spoonful of sauce, her other hand cupping the bottom as she brings it to his lips. He sips it off gingerly, his eyes slipping closed in ecstasy.

"It's delicious," he admits, licking his mouth.

She smiles in delight and he can't help but kiss her, letting her taste the sweet sauce on his lips. She lets out a breathy laugh and lets the spoon fall back into the pan. His hands curl at the fabric at her waist, the pads of his fingers smoothing the skin at her hips.

"I love you, Kate," he murmurs, his lips grazing her cheek before settling at her forehead.

She hums, nuzzling against him. "I love you, too," she says softly. He lets out a shaky sigh, missed this, missed her, and slips his arms around her thin frame in a tight embrace.

These are the moments that give him hope.

"Wanna help?" she asks, tugging her lip between her teeth in hesitation. She's trying, God help her, and he forces himself to stay in the moment, ignore the fact that they even have to try with each other in the first place.

"Love to," he replies with a smile, combing a few fingers through her ponytail.

"Why don't you slice up the bread and find us something to drink?" she suggests, smudging his lips with her fingers before she resumes preparation.

So he slices a loaf of homemade white bread they picked up on the way home and pours matching glasses of merlot.

"Do you wanna pick out something to watch?" she suggests, taking a sip of her drink as she sets her plate onto the coffee table.

His fingers graze over the sci-fi titles, knows she loves most of them as much as he does, but he wants something different, so he pulls out _Breakfast at Tiffany's_ because he knows she also has a soft spot for old Audrey Hepburn films.

He settles onto the couch, watching her with ease as the title screen appears. Her eyes soften even more before him as she hides a pleased smile behind her wineglass. And when she finishes their delectable dinner, she settles her head onto his lap without hesitation, throwing a blanket over her legs. He brushes his fingers across her cheeks in a soothing, loving, rhythmic motion.

When the movie's over and she's curled into the fetal position, her hands resting at his knee, he expects to find her asleep. But then she turns in his lap, the back of her head pressing into his thighs.

"Thought you were asleep," he says, brushing a hand against her neck, gently sweeping her hair out from under her head.

She shrugs. "Not really tired."

He nods, accepting her answer. "Dinner was great," he says after a moment.

"Nothing special," she deprecates.

"Still." He swallows, hesitating. "It was…nice." His voice is steady as he attempts to keep the accusation from his voice. He doesn't want to fight tonight and he's really not baiting her, but he doesn't know if she'll bite anyway.

But she just smiles. "It was." She finds one of his hands with her fingers and slides them through the spaces, over the lines, the rough spots of his knuckles. She kisses his palm before finally threading her fingers through his, resting their hands over her heart.

"Wanna slip into the Jacuzzi tub for awhile?"

"Sounds great, but I should probably go to bed," she sighs.

"Thought you were on call tomorrow."

"I am, but—" she cuts herself off, taking a sharp breath. "I'm going in to work on the case."

And then it all makes sense.

The leaving early, their rare dinner together, the movie—it's all so she can leave him tomorrow without feeling guilty about it.

Well.

She loosens her grip on his hand, probably knows that he's not feeling all that affectionate towards her right now. He swallows the anger, shoves the hurt into his stomach. He resists the urge to yell, to fight with her again because he knows it's futile.

So he tries another strategy.

"Stay with me," he pleads softly. Not begging, but close. He wants her with him and if he has to sacrifice his pride a little, then so be it.

She sighs, running a hand over her face. "Rick—"

"Kate. Please. The boys can handle it tomorrow. I'm asking you for one day." He pauses. "Just one." Her silence seems to indicate that she's considering caving, so he presses her further.

"Tell me you haven't missed me," he rasps.

Her face contorts in pain and he knows he's hit a nerve. "I can't," she confesses.

Yeah, because she craves him, too.

"So stay." He tightens his hand over hers. "I miss you."

She lets out a slow breath. "Okay, Castle." She squeezes his fingers and he feels his heart contract. "I'll stay."

* * *

**Thoughts?**

**Olivia**


	6. Chapter 5

**Then**

He starts to break, feels his whole being crack right down the middle.

He's at her side just like he is every morning, loyal to a fault. They're called to a scene a few blocks away from her old apartment, outside a Chinese restaurant they used to order in from when they were dating and camped out at her place for the night.

The victim's name is Katherine Beckett.

He almost passes out when Esposito reluctantly provides the ID, looking grim and worried. But then she's wrapping her hand around his arm, encouraging him to remain in the moment, focus on her. Somewhere in the distance he hears Lanie talking, but her voice is sharp, tinny, and doesn't sound like her at all.

He's dizzy, his vision tunneling between his wife and the victim. He inhales sharply as Lanie pulls the brown wig from the victim's head, revealing natural blond hair.

Just a coincidence, he tells himself.

Richard Castle has never believed in coincidences, but he thinks it's high time to start.

He stumbles a little bit, shakes out of her grasp as he manages to take a few tentative steps forward. Upon closer examination, he notices that the other Kate Beckett has on a pair of dress pants and a deep blue turtleneck with a dark red stain bleeding from the center of her chest.

Shot. Point blank.

"Shit," he splutters, gasping for breath. Because now he's having flashbacks, sees his beloved lying in the grass, eyes wide with shock as her blood pools out of her body, through the material of her uniform.

He wheezes, his eyes tearing painfully as he forces himself back to the present. But now it's her face on the other Kate Beckett and he—

_Oh God._

His feet are heavy, lead and stone, but he picks them up and turns abruptly, curls his body away from his worst nightmare. He trips over his feet on his way to her Crown Vic, but manages to avoid the police tape. Curious eyes bore into him, but he can't stop.

Has to get away.

He lets his body fall against the car, presses his head to the metal in slight relief. He needs her _now, _doesn't know if she followed him, if she's waiting him out.

But then she's pulling him to her in the tightest hug, whispering soothing words that he can't quite make out and he's _crying_—

God, he's crying.

He steadies himself against her, allows her to coddle him for a second because God, he needs it. And then she's pressing her mouth to his, fierce and bruising, and he feels all of her love pouring into him.

"Gonna be okay," she murmurs against his lips, her fingers splayed against his cheek. And for a moment, he believes her. He feels his heart slow under her touch, takes her hand in his and rests it between their chests. Needs to feel her heart beat, too.

"Let's go back to the precinct. We can let the boys finish up here. Okay?" He nods, swallowing hard as the words stick in his throat. She brushes a kiss against his forehead before she lets go, remains at his side until he slides into the car, still a little shaky.

When she shifts the car into gear and pulls onto the New York street, she reaches for his hand, slides her fingers through his. He musters a squeeze, lets his head bounce against his seat, eyes slamming closed.

It's like something out of a nightmare. She's next to him, smells of lavender and cherries. He can touch her, slip his fingers through her hair, kiss her. But she's there on the street, too, dead at the hands of professional killer.

Or she will be, anyway.

Surely now she must see—

"Rick," she prods gently, her thumb grazing over his knuckle. He sighs, slowly slides his eyes open in response. His eyes find hers, soft and gentle, as she lifts their joined hands to glide her fingers across his cheeks, brush the tears away.

"I'm right here," she reminds him quietly. She wraps her hand around his wrist and brings it to her chest, just at her heart. "My heart. It's still beating." She pauses. "And it's gonna stay that way."

He doesn't say anything because _how can she fucking promise that?_ He almost asks her to take him home, wants her to come with him, but doesn't want to hear her say no. She'll kiss him and tell him she has to stay, but she'll see him at home tonight.

But if the case has anything at all to do with Kate (he can tell himself it's a coincidence all he wants, but that won't make it true)—well, he can't be a party to it, can he? But the thought of him leaving her side now makes his stomach turn.

So he sluggishly follows her into the bullpen, her fingers loose in his hand. He sits down in his usual chair, silent as she heads to Gates office to give her an update. He wants Gates to say no, to take her off the case and make her go home, but he knows it won't happen.

She's been smart; he gives her props for that. Ever since she came back after her resignation, she's done everything by the book. Never without back-up, listens to her Captain without protest (though he sometimes gets an earful of it later). Which is why Gates won't say no to her, not now that Kate's gained her trust.

She comes out minutes later, tripping her fingers across his shoulder as she brushes past him. She sits down in her chair, tucks a long golden strand of hair behind her ear, musing thoughtfully.

"Ryan and Esposito should be back any minute," she says. She tugs on her lip, a little hesitant. "Do you want to go back to the loft?"

"You're staying here?" The question is weak in his voice; they both understand it as a statement of fact, anyway.

Still, she nods. "I am," she confirms softly.

"I need to be near you right now," he confesses. "But I can't do this, either."

"So where does that leave us?"

"At an impasse, where we always are," he says, throat tight. He clenches his fists once before he frees them, letting out a slow breath. "But for now," he starts, forcing a small smile, "how about some coffee?"

* * *

He didn't stay long. Sipped his coffee next to her for a few minutes until Ryan and Esposito returned from the canvass. He managed to sit there as they put the murder board together, ignoring the worried flicks of their eyes to him. The case may have reached a peak, but he's been dealing with the fallout for a long time now.

_Too long._

He leaves around the fifth time they say her name in context with the murder. She's alive, _dammit_, and the reminder that she could be otherwise is too much for him to bear.

He brushes a kiss against her cheek, his hand sliding to splay against her lower back. She allows herself to be distracted for a moment, murmurs an "I love you" against his lips, even wraps a hand around his neck to slip her fingers through his hair for a second.

But then the moment is over and she's smudging her digits against his lips in goodbye, a parting smile on her lips. And then she's gone from the cave of his body, already questioning Ryan about a witness who may or may not have seen something at the time of the murder.

So he shuffles out of the pen, a little worn, a lot weary. But he doesn't let them see the sag of his shoulders, the tired lines that burrow deep in his face, the way his hair falls into his face to keep prying eyes away from the fact that he's constantly turning himself inside out.

Killing himself just to keep her.

* * *

**As you can see, we've started to reach a turning point. One or two more chapters before we jump back to the present. I know not everyone wants to be spoiled on the ending, but if the angst is really too much to bear (it's taking its toll on me, too. Ha), feel free to PM me and I'll...let you know how it goes.**

**As always, I'd love feedback.**

**Liv**


	7. Chapter 6

**Then**

He spends a night with Alexis at Columbia because he needs a break. Needs a little perspective and a change of scenery. He doesn't discuss it with her, not when it took her so long to warm up to Kate to begin with.

So he pastes a smile on his face, wraps her in a tight hug and whisks her off to dinner at one of their old haunts. He shoves some warm pasta in his mouth as she captivates him with her stories, regales him with all her adventures. And when she makes him laugh, it's full of life, lacks the hollowness that's echoed within him the last several months.

So they catch a movie, too, an old favorite that's playing on a small corner theater. Her blue eyes sparkle as she reaches for a handful of salty popcorn, face aglow under the light of the screen. She's light, happy, reminds him so much of himself.

Or the man he used to be.

The thought socks him in the gut and it's all he can do to force his eyes to remain on the screen when all he wants to do is take a walk around the city, somewhere, anywhere, to figure out what the hell he's doing, where he's gone wrong.

When he drops her off, it's almost one in the morning. He kisses her forehead, almost tells her to come visit them soon, but stops himself. She's got enough on her plate without having to worry about her old man.

It's cold now, too cold, and his emotions have settled in his stomach a little, so he skips the walk and opts for a cab home instead.

And when he presses his cheek to the chilled glass of the window, watching the street lights blur under his heavy eyes, he knows what he has to do.

And maybe it'll be futile, maybe he can never be that man again, but he'll never know unless something changes. And he certainly can't change her; that much is clear.

But even so. The decision rolls around in his stomach, makes him nauseous. He chokes through it, takes a deep, shuddering breath, closing his eyes against the cabbie's curious gaze.

It's gonna wreck him. Tear him to pieces from the inside out.

Because as miserable as he's been, he's pretty sure there's not a chance in hell that he can live without her either.

* * *

He doesn't know what to expect when he slips through the door just after two o'clock.

But. Well, this doesn't come close to anything he could've conjured up.

"Jesus Christ," she mutters angrily, tossing her phone onto the coffee table as she clings to him, his face tucked tightly between her palms. She kisses him, bruising and fierce, as she breathes harshly against his lips.

"Where the hell have you been, Rick? I've been worried sick," she rasps, pulling away to bore her eyes into his. "Almost had Ryan and Esposito put an APB on you."

"I was with Alexis," he says simply. He's having a hard time sympathizing with her right now, having lost count of all the times he's sat on the couch waiting for her to come home to him.

"Your phone's off," she says, exasperated, as she crosses her arms over her chest.

He frowns, pulling it out of his pocket. He pushes against the button, waits for it to flash to life, but it only flickers. "It must've died," he explains, dropping it back into his pocket. He turns his back to her, calmly hangs up his coat as he waits for her to tear him a new one.

"So that's it? You've been gone all night without a word and this is all I get from you? Classy, Castle," she bites, dropping her hands to her sides before she stalks off, shaking her head.

But he won't let her have the satisfaction.

"Doesn't feel so great, does it, Kate?" He pauses, waits for her to stop. She does, her spine stiffening under his red t-shirt. "You think I've been sitting here with my thumb up my ass night after night as I wait for you to get home?"

She's at him in seconds, a finger poking hard into his chest. "You knew where I was every fucking night. So don't stand there and tell me it's the same goddamn thing when there's real danger now, Rick. What's to stop them for coming for you, too?" she hisses.

"Absolutely nothing," he agrees. "And yet you still won't stop," he says quietly, his eyes sliding across her face as he brushes past her. He braces his hands against the kitchen island, his knuckles white under the force of his weight.

"And we're back to this now," he hears her mutter under her breath.

"We are," he confirms quietly.

"Is this the part where you ask me to quit again?"

He shakes his head, balls his hands into fists. "No," he chokes out. He pushes himself off the table to find her steps away from him. He swallows a lump in his throat, knows it's only a matter of time before the tears come. "No. This is the part where I tell you that I'm quitting."

She raises an eyebrow and he can tell immediately that she's not understanding. "You haven't _been_ a part of—"

"I'm not talking about the case, Kate," he interrupting, his voice wavering.

"For God's sake, Castle, spell it out," she growls.

He slams his eyes shut, feels his tears slide out onto his cheeks. "I want a divorce," he chokes out, steadying himself on the stool as his legs buckle under him.

Her face twists in pain and she's still, so still. "Castle, I…" she trails off in a whisper, biting hard at her lip as tears fill her eyes. "I married you because I wanted to spend the rest of my life with you." She sweeps her fingers against her cheek. "And now you're telling me that you don't want that anymore?"

"I'll always want that, Kate," he confesses. She's starting to crumple before his eyes, looks so small in his shirt and her sweatpants. And then his head is screaming at him to take it all back, take her into his arms and never let her go.

But he can't.

"But I can't live like this anymore."

He remembers when they were first married, when things were still good and she was still choosing him, making their life together a priority. He misses cooking dinner with her, laying her down anywhere and everywhere in the middle of the afternoon to make love to her simply because they could.

Even the nights when he couldn't sleep, couldn't make Nikki and Rook keep quiet in his head, she was still at his side, perched on the edge of his desk, fiddling with his hair as he typed furiously, distracted only by the allure of her long, bare, golden legs under the cover of his button up shirt.

How far they've come.

"We're so close," she insists. "If you could just wait a little longer—"

Waiting. He's always waiting.

"We both know that's not true. You're not any closer to catching this guy than you were a year ago."

She shakes her head, doesn't want to hear him refute her pleas. But they both know the truth.

She combs her fingers through her hair anxiously. "What if I choose you?" she asks desperately.

"You've already done that once." He sighs in defeat. "Still led us back here, didn't it?"

Her body caves into itself a little more at his words and he can't keep himself away from her any longer, so he awkwardly shuffles/crawls to her crumpled form, her legs twisted together under her hips, her hands clutching her sides.

"Kate," he prods gently, pressing his lips to her hair. He waits for her to pull away, give him a little shove, something, but all she does is turn her body into him, resting her head against his chest in defeat.

"I love you, Castle." Her voice is small and broken against his skin. _Don't leave me._

"I'll always love you, Beckett." He wraps his arms around her, tugs her closer. _But it's not enough anymore._

* * *

**Shed a few tears as I wrote this. Le sigh. **

**Thoughts?**

**Liv**


	8. Chapter 7

***Please note the time jump back to the present**

**Now**

After she leaves him, he crawls into bed and doesn't get out for two days. He wraps his arms around the pillow that still smells like her, slips his feet through her favorite blanket, keeps his eyes tightly closed, even in the sun. He keeps a glass of water at his bedside table so that he can make fewer trips to the kitchen.

He texts Alexis, wishes her good luck on a big history exam. He ignores a few phone calls from Ryan and Esposito, wonders how much they know, if they've always known where he and Kate were headed. He's certain that they'd understand, if they don't already, but he doesn't want to talk to them. Not yet. Not til he's at least a minimal level of coherent and rational.

Somewhere on Day 3—mid afternoon or so, he isn't sure—he's developed enough self-loathing to kick himself out of bed to join the land of the living.

Or at least, the land outside his bedroom. Let's not get too carried away.

He slips into a brief, hot shower, runs a few fingers through his hair after he slides into a pair of jeans and a wrinkled tee shirt.

He wants to eat—needs to eat—but his heart is in his stomach and everything aches. His loft is so empty without her and that sounds insane because it's not like she was home that much anyway, but—

Maybe he should just go back to bed.

As he seriously considers stepping into his bedroom again, a knock reverberates against the front door. He shuffles reluctantly towards the noise, isn't prepared to talk to anyone in his state. Explanations are for later. Hugs are for tomorrow. Comfort, that's for next week.

He might accept food. But that's it.

When he swings the door open, his heart falls just a little deeper.

Make that food and Jim Beckett, the only man who could possibly understand what he's going through right now.

He swallows hard, forces a small, quiet smile. "Jim."

The older man's eyes are sad as the corners of his mouth turn just a little. "Rick. Can I come in?"

Castle nods, lifting a hand to push the hair out of his eyes. "Of course." Castle steps aside to let him in, letting his eyes slip closed for a brief second, willing himself to make it through whatever conversation Kate's father has in store for him.

"Can I get you some coffee?" Castle asks.

"You look like I should be the one getting you the coffee, Rick," Jim says softly.

Castle lets out a weak, hollow chuckle, rubbing the back of his neck with his hand. "It's been a rough few days," he admits, detouring towards the living room. He settles into one side of the couch as Jim crouches into a chair.

"It's safe to assume that you've seen Kate, then?" Castle asks, swallowing around her name. Even one syllable on his lips tears him to pieces.

"Had breakfast with her this morning," he says.

"How's she doing?" he asks before he can stop himself.

"She's a wreck," he replies bluntly. "I'm not sure she'd appreciate my telling you that, but I think you need to hear it."

Castle frowns. "I'm not following."

Jim sighs. "You doubt Katie's love for you, don't you, Rick?"

He—what?

He shakes his head. "It's never been about that, Jim. I—" He breaks off on a sigh. "I'm trying to love her. I'm—" He pauses, shaking his head. "I'm trying to save her life, but I feel like I'm competing with a ghost."

Jim's silent for a moment, thoughtful. "Katie didn't tell me everything that happened between the two of you, so I won't pretend to know better than you about this. But I will tell you this: when she first gave up her job and chose you over her mother's case, she never went back on the decision she thought she was making."

"With all due respect, sir, empty beds and broken promises tell a different story," Castle says quietly.

"Let me explain, then. I've been watching her closely over the last several months, ever since she told me she was looking into the case again. And maybe for this, you'll just have to take my word on it, but she's different. This isn't a rabbit hole, Rick. You're the only thing keeping her from falling into it again."

"Sir—"

"And this time, it's not about her mother. It's about _you_."

He wants to believe it to true, he really does, but all of the fights, the words—they flash through his mind, cut down his defenses. It doesn't make any sense.

How could it be about _him_?

"This may or may not surprise you, but my daughter's always been a romantic. 'One and done' and all that," he lets out a gentle laugh. "She knows you're the one, Rick. And if I know her like I think I do, she's got it in her mind that she can't live the life she wants with you until this guy goes away."

_I'm trying to _save_ my life here, not end it._

Trying to save _their_ life together.

Castle clenches his fists against his sides. "She tried to tell me that, but I—" He shakes his head. "I don't understand it. They'd drop it if she stopped pursuing them."

Jim sighs. "Whenever my little girl turned the corner, her mother was there. She told me about the cases, about Coonan, Roy—all of them. She never sought them out; they always seemed to fall in her lap." He pauses. "I think that at one point she thought she could keep the two separate, her work as a detective and Johanna's case. But when it kept following her, she couldn't separate them anymore."

Castle's head is spinning. His fingers dig into the cushion of the couch as Jim continues to speak.

"I think that's why she gave up her job. Not only for you, but to end the inevitable tie to the murder."

"And then she went back," Castle says softly, shaking his head in realization.

"She went back because being a cop is a part of who she is. We both know that."

Castle nods slowly, waits for the words to come to him, something, anything, but they don't.

"I don't agree with what she's done, Rick. I can see how it's torn both of you apart. But I also can't let you end your marriage for the wrong reasons." He lets out a slow breath. "It's killing her, too, seeing what she's done to you. But I think she thinks the ends justify the means."

In other words, living a life free and clear by his side without a look back is worth all the pain that it takes to get there.

Well, he never said Kate Beckett was rational, did he?

"I've never stopped loving her," Castle rasps.

"Take it a day at a time. I know it's none of my business, but just…don't rush into anything," Jim suggests gently.

Castle scrubs a hand down his face, exhausted and weary. He thought he'd been making the right decision. Standing his ground, for once.

But now he's not so sure.

Yeah, he definitely needs to go back to bed for a few days while he gets everything sorted out in his head.

God, where has Jim Beckett been the last several months?

"I know it's a lot to take in, so I'll leave you to it." Jim rises from his chair. "I appreciate the chance to hear me out," Jim says sincerely, reaching for Rick's hand.

Castle shakes his hand firmly. "Not necessary. Thanks for stopping over." He follows him to the door, watches as Jim pauses, struggling with something as his hand hovers over the doorknob.

"You're a good man, Rick. And I'll always be grateful to you, no matter what happens between you and Katie," he says softly.

And then, just like that, another Beckett is gone, leaving him stunned and confused for the second time in three days. So he does the only thing he knows to do.

He crawls back in bed.

* * *

**Not over yet. Still have a few more chapters up my sleeve. One conversation can't fix everything, right?**

**As always, I'd love to hear from you.**

**Liv**


	9. Chapter 8

**Sorry for the wait on this one. Trying to get my bearings in Los Angeles.**

* * *

**Now**

He hasn't touched the papers. Can't even bring himself to pick up a pen or take them out of the delivery envelope they came in, for Christ's sake.

To be honest, they make him sick to his stomach. Which is why he shoved the envelope in his bottom desk drawer, underneath a stack of his old outlining notebooks, a place he rarely touches. Forgotten.

It's been a week since he saw her last, the longest they've been apart since the summer she was shot. He's picked up the phone a dozen times to call her to talk, but his thumb always falters over send. It's not like talking got them anywhere before, except one step closer to their breaking point.

He doesn't know what the hell to do anymore; his head is still spinning after his conversation with Jim. He's desperate to have faith—to cling to _something_—but his experience with her tells him otherwise.

He decides to call the boys because he could really use another ear, another opinion.

That and he hasn't returned a single one of their calls.

He cradles the phone at his shoulder as he flips a pancake on the stovetop, ignoring the deep growl of his stomach. It's the middle of the afternoon and he's only just gotten around to making breakfast. He's eaten like shit the last seven days and it's finally starting to catch up with him.

"Ryan," the distracted voice answers. Castle can almost see him sitting across from Esposito, gesturing wildly about whatever ridiculous (Yeah, he's jealous) discussion they're deep into.

"Hey," Castle musters a light tone, his grip on the skillet handle tight as he waits for the detective to respond. He hears a surprised breath on the other end. And now Ryan's probably mouthing to Esposito, who's scooting in his chair to lean into the phone so he can hear, too.

Yeah, he misses them, too.

"We've left you at least a hundred messages," Ryan says.

Castle sighs. "I know." He tosses the pancake onto his plate with his fork. "I've been in seclusion, I guess you could say." He lets out a dark chuckle.

"We just called to tell you that we're sorry about you and Beckett."

He lets the guilt wash over him, deserves it. He thought—

He was sure they called to berate him, angry for hurting her.

But well—

He's their friend, too, isn't he? He should've expected more.

He swallows hard. "Thanks," he manages. He takes a breath, reaching for the pancake mix again. "How's she doing?" he asks quietly.

Silence.

Castle stills, his hand hovering over the stove. "Ryan?"

"We haven't seen her, bro," Esposito chimes in, confirming Castle's earlier theory about the nosy Hispanic detective.

"What do you mean you haven't seen her?" he asks, setting the batter aside once again.

"Lanie told us what happened, but that's the only reason we know about it. Beckett's been on leave for the last week," Ryan says quietly.

Jesus Christ.

"We thought about calling her. We've gotten a few solid leads on Maddox's whereabouts—"

"What?" Castle asks sharply.

"We're closing in on him, Castle," Ryan says quietly.

Castle sighs. It never ends. "And she doesn't have any idea?"

"We wanted to tell her, bro, but Gates—" Esposito breaks off, clears his throat. "Gates wanted to give her the time off. Didn't want her investigating without her head screwed on straight."

Castle nods slowly, dazed, as he cards a hand through his hair. He feels himself being sucked in, wants to know about all the facets of the case they've been investigating without him for months. Surely they can't have spent all this time chasing Maddox with nothing to show for it thus far.

He knows her to be a better detective than that.

Knows _them_ to be better detectives than that.

But he closes his mouth, forces the questions back inside. The knowledge isn't going to do him any good.

"Castle, you there?" He hears the Irish detective ask.

He shakes his head, clearing his head. "Yeah, I—" He cuts himself off, pursing his lips in frustration. Because what the hell does he do now?

He thought that calling the boys would help him get a grip on everything, but he's more confused about everything than ever.

_We haven't seen her in a week_.

He didn't expect—

She must've put the case on hold-

Must be taking it worse than he thought.

He's saved from the appropriate reply—questions, promises, he isn't sure—when there's a knock at his door. He groans.

"I gotta call you back," he says quickly, doesn't wait for a response before he ends the call.

He considers ignoring his visitor; he's already seen Jim and anybody he cares to see right now would let themselves in.

But he hesitates in his thoughts too long, anyway, and the door rattles with the slow click of the lock.

But Alexis has class today and he can't remember the last time his mother has knocked before barging in.

Which means—

_Kate._

And then she's stepping through the doorway, loft keys dangling from her fingers like they belong there.

Like they've never left her hand.

He sucks in a breath, stills his body against the kitchen island. She still hasn't realized that she's not alone.

His heart sinks into his chest as his eyes slowly peruse her shuffling form. His grey fleece hoodie (he's been looking for that _forever_) hangs off her, swallowing her whole. Her cheekbones are as prominent as ever, sharp against her gorgeous features.

Jesus. She must've lost at least ten pounds.

"Oh," she lets out on a surprised breath and he snaps out of his thoughts to meet her startled gaze. She halts in her path and his eyes are drawn to her wringing hands. "There was no answer, so—" She sighs and her chin drops to her chest for a moment, exhausted.

When she lifts her head, he's taken aback by the despair he finds behind her eyes."I left some of my things here," she finishes quietly.

He nods slowly, words failing him for the second time today. He waits for her to move again, but she doesn't, seems to be stuck in her spot. He curls his fingers around the edge of the table, quelling the urge to reach for her.

"You hungry?" he blurts out.

Smooth, Rick.

She shakes her head. "I had some cereal for breakfast."

His eyes flick to the clock on the microwave (3:00 p.m.) and back to her, his eyebrows raised.

She rolls her eyes. "Don't start with me."

He clenches his jaw. "You need to eat, Kate."

"You don't get to worry about me anymore, Rick," she snaps.

And then he's shrinking away from her, silent as he busies himself at the stove, her words loud and painful in his ear.

She's right. He doesn't have a right to anymore.

"I'm—sorry," she rasps. "I didn't mean—"

He swallows the hard lump in his throat, shaking his head. "It's fine," he whispers hoarsely, more for his own benefit. It's fine.

It is.

"No, it's not," she says, soft, insistent. "It's not fine."

And suddenly they're talking about so much more. Subtext has always been their specialty, hasn't it?

The spatula falls from his hand, clatters onto the stovetop. "Kate—"

"Pick up the spatula, Castle," she prods. He turns around to find her only a few feet from him now, hidden behind the island. Her small smile is strained and her body is curved slightly into itself, as if she's protecting herself.

But she's there with him in his kitchen.

And he's _missed_ her. God, so much.

"I don't eat burned pancakes."

_Oh._ She's going to—

Well.

Okay.

He can't very well turn her away now, can he? It'd be rude to, especially if she's going to take him up on his offer.

So he tosses the pancake into the trash and starts anew.

And yeah, he still doesn't have a fucking clue what he's doing, and maybe this will wreck him even worse later, but he knows one thing.

They haven't had a meal together in the last six months.

* * *

**Probably about 3 more chapters, I think. **

**Thoughts?**

**Liv**


	10. Chapter 9

**Now**

She makes them both coffee. One second he's piling pancakes on a plate and scrounging up fruit from the refrigerator and the next she's at the counter with the cream and sugar and he—

God.

He finally grabs the strawberries after standing in front of the open door for at least an entire three minutes and manages to make his feet move to the center island.

"You, uh, want me to get the milk out?" he asks softly. She hates cream. Always has.

She turns her head to him, her smile a little small, a little shy. "Would you?"

He considers pouring it into her mug, just like he does every morning (_did_ every morning), but he doesn't push his luck, just sets it down next to their warm meal. She settles down in her usual spot, mouth hidden behind her mug, nudging his cup towards his plate.

After he swallows his first few bites, he realizes they still haven't really said a word since he asked her about the milk. He wipes his mouth with his napkin, swallowing a little roughly, and cants his head to look at her.

Really look at her.

Her hair is the lightest it's ever been, a caramel blond that he loves. It kisses her skin, makes her glow even in the darkest of light. It falls in her eyes a little now, swept out of her low ponytail. Gorgeous.

His eyes fall as she swallows and his gaze sweeps over her jaw to the line of her graceful neck. He loves to let his mouth linger there, just below her ear. Or loved—but-_no_.

_No._

Because his love for her could never be in the past. No matter how far gone they might be.

"Burning a hole through me with that stare of yours, Castle." Her tone is light and her eyes haven't budged an inch.

He blushes, ducking his head. "Sorry," he murmurs.

She shakes her head, as if to say, "Don't be," but the words never make it across her lips.

Ah, shit.

What is he doing?

He sucks in a breath, closes his eyes. "Kate—" he starts.

"Castle—" he hears her rasp. So he closes his mouth and lets her speak, his inane words stuck on his tongue.

"I can't," she starts again and he hears a hitch in her breath, finally forces his eyes to her again. He expects to find her hunched and hiding in her coffee, but her gaze is fixed on him, pointed and desperate. "I can't sit here and eat breakfast with you knowing…" Her voice trails off into a whisper, before she swallows, finds her words again. "Isn't this killing you?" Her eyes widen a little in emphasis, like she can't believe she's there and they're _doing this right now._

He opens his mouth again, but he's too mesmerized by the deprecating shake of her head to respond. There's more.

"I'm sitting here eating breakfast with you, Rick." She lets out a dark laugh and her gaze falls again, steady on her coffee mug as her thumb finds a nick in the rim. "Do you know the last time we even ate a meal together that wasn't at the precinct?" Her voice is dark now, all rasp, and he knows she's plunging into the memory.

He's pretty sure her question is rhetorical, but he doesn't know the exact day or the exact meal, but that's why it cracks his heart.

Because he can't remember.

"It was dinner," she remembers. "You made that mac and cheese that I love so much, the one Martha never lets you make because it's too rich for her figure." She pauses, hums a little laugh. "I poured us some wine and we sat on the couch and watched _Temptation Lane_."

"Kate—" He can't—_oh, _it hurts.

But then she's pushing the mug away with her hand and he has to clench his palm to keep from reaching for her when he notices the shine in her eyes.

"We _never_ watched Temptation Lane together, Castle. I mean, God—you were trying so hard then and I—" She shakes her head again. "If this happens. If we—" Her voice breaks and the tears are slipping down her cheeks now. She swallows the word. "You have to know that I was doing this for us. In my head. It stopped being about my mother a long time ago. I just—I just wanted us to have it all."

Shit. _Shit. _What is he doing?

What have they done?

"But what I didn't realize is that we already did."

Her words knock him in the chest and it's fucking all he's wanted to hear from her since the first night she didn't come home to him.

"God, Kate, I can't—_can't_ fucking do this right now." A deep shudder runs through him as he scrapes a hand over his face. "What the hell am I supposed to say to that?" he asks desperately.

To her credit, she doesn't flinch and he knows that she knows it could never be as easy as that.

He may be a writer, but he's never believed that words alone can heal.

She tugs at her lip, her eyes flicking over his face as she chooses her words carefully. "I want to ask you to give me another chance," she admits softly. "But I won't add that to the laundry list of unfair things I've asked you to endure since you put this on my finger," she says, rubbing her thumb over the silver band.

He wants her.

He does. _God_, he does.

But he needs more time. And until then—

"You have to solve the case, Kate," he blurts out.

Her face falls a little. "Castle, haven't you been listening to a word I've said?"

"I know it doesn't make any sense. I'm asking you to finish what I've been telling you to give up, but—" He pauses. "This is a pattern with us, Kate. With you. And it ends here. No matter what happens between us, you have to do this."

"I've gotten _nowhere_, Rick. It could take me years."

And then—

He remembers.

The phone call.

"Kate, they have a lead."

She scrunches her forehead in confusion. "What are you talking about?"

"Ryan told me that you, uh, haven't been in this week."

"I haven't." Fact. No shame.

"I was on the phone with him when you got here. He told me that they have a lead on Maddox. They're closing in on him, Kate."

Her interest has piqued a little, but it's just a flicker, nothing all-encompassing like he's used to seeing.

"If I do this, will you promise me something?" she asks.

He closes his eyes, prepares himself to turn her down because he just—

Isn't ready yet.

"Look at me, Rick," she prods gently. He sighs, lets his eyes flutter open to face the music. "If I do this," she starts again, "You do it with me."

So, yeah.

He's gonna do it with her.

* * *

**I have no interest in dragging this case out, so we are coming up on the end fairly quickly.**

**For those of you who missed it (or don't have me on alerts ;), I posted a companion from Kate's POV. You can find it on my page. "Quicksand".**

**Thoughts?**

**Liv**


	11. Chapter 10

**Now**

It's been a week and they haven't gotten anywhere.

Ryan's lead, a confidential informant, conveniently went missing around the time Beckett followed up.

And yeah, he's kind of at a loss because—

Well, what if they _don't_ find him? What's he supposed to do then?

The thought shudders him to his very core.

His only relief from the whole situation actually comes in the form of one Kate Beckett, surprisingly enough.

She's been there at his side for the last week now, almost like old times. And it should make his heart ache and his stomach sink, but it doesn't.

How can it, when she strolls in a little late, just a smidge lighter, a small smile at her lips, hair curled perfectly with _two_ coffee cups in her hand?

She doesn't push, doesn't brush her fingers over his shoulders or peck him on the cheek. Her fingers don't curl over his in his lap and her ankle doesn't brush his calf.

But when she refills his coffee mug every couple of hours and sets a muffin down in front of him, as if she does it everyday, all of the missing touches are meaningless.

And even though the fist in his stomach gets tighter each day that passes without anything new—without anything solid—his heart gets a little lighter.

"You comin' in tomorrow?" he asks, shrugging into his coat. She slings an arm through the sleeve of hers, slow and thoughtful. She opens her mouth to respond, but hesitates, her teeth settling onto her lower lip instead. His eyes are immediately drawn to her mouth and it hits him how much he's missed kissing her.

He takes a small breath. One step at a time.

"Actually…" she trails off, fidgeting with the buttons of her coat as her gaze trips over his face. "Did you have plans?"

He shrugs. "Alexis and I have spent the last couple of Saturdays together, but she's got a study date tomorrow, so I was going to meet you here."

"I wasn't planning on coming in tomorrow," she admits quietly, soft and shy under the comfort of her pea coat.

He swallows. "So I'll see you Monday?" he asks, forcing a light tone. The truth is, he'd rather not have the weekend to himself to mull things over. He's done enough of that over the last several days. He loves the distraction, the pretense that things haven't changed all that much despite the state of their marriage.

And, even with their slow progress, he still hasn't really managed to write anything worthwhile.

"Actually, I was wondering if you would, um…" she shakes her head, lets out a little laugh as a blush tinges her cheeks. He cocks his head curiously, suppressing a twitch of his lips. "I was going to ask you if you wanted to spend the day with me. Get lunch or dinner or something," she finishes quickly.

_Oh_. Like—

A _date_?

"Yeah," she starts, and he realizes that he blurted his question out loud. "A date," she says softly, tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear.

He sucks in a breath, speechless. Because how does he—

His wife wants to take him on a date.

_Kate Beckett_ asked _him_ out to lunch.

He watches her shift uncomfortably, busying herself with a few files on her desk as she waits him out. But then—"You don't have to. I know we're not—I just thought maybe it could—"

He shakes his head, cutting her off. "No," he says.

Her face falls. "No?"

Shit. No. Not what he meant to say. "No, I mean—" He lets out a breath. "I'm just surprised, that's all."

She nods, gives him a small smile. And he sees it all over her face—her strength, her vulnerability. He knows she took a risk here.

And if she wants to start trying to make it up to him, then—

Who is he to say no, really?

"I'd love to spend the day with you, Kate," he says quietly.

She lets out a breath, flashing him that wide, bright smile that never fails to turn his insides out. "Pick you up around noon?"

"You know where I live," he jokes before his brain can catch up to his mouth. He winces, sees the light dim in her eyes a little. "Noon sounds great," he says hastily, pasting a smile on his lips.

"Good," she hedges, grabbing her purse from the bottom drawer of her desk. "I'll walk you out?" She gestures towards the elevator.

He nods, joins her side seconds later as they leave the low chatter of the bullpen behind them.

It's not until she's leaning away to tap the button for their floor that he finds his hand midair, falling from its spot at the small of her back.

Oh, boy.

* * *

He doesn't sleep much that night, even considers calling her to cancel their outing tomorrow.

But he can't. Or rather—

He won't.

He thinks maybe he's been too easy on her lately, should be making her work harder for it. For them.

But—

Since when has their love ever been about punishment?

Because that's what he'd be doing, if he called the whole thing off. He'd be punishing the both of them, not just her. Because _of course_, he wants it, too. How can he not?

Just because she's made mistakes doesn't mean he needs to make them, too. She's hurt him, torn his heart into pieces, but what kind of a man would he be if he made all the same mistakes just because she deserved it?

It's no way to live.

She's a smart woman; it's one of the many things that drew him to her in the first place. She knows his concession isn't an act of forgiveness. Not yet, anyway.

How could it be, when she's still floundering to apologize?

And she will, he knows she will. But words don't come as easily to her and she's always taken her time, even when she knows how much it means to him.

After all, it took her a full month to say, "I love you" after the first time they slept together.

So, it's just...

One more step.

* * *

He crawls out of bed way too early, slipping into a pair of socks before grabbing a cup of coffee and settling down at his desk.

He should really try to write. Gina's been sympathetic, which he's been really grateful for, but he knows her kindness will only go so far.

But he doesn't know how to make Nikki and Rook come alive on the page when he's still babying his relationship with Kate.

He sighs, erasing the last sentence on the page for what seems like the thousandth time. He scours through his desk drawers, looking for old notes and outlines for inspiration. Maybe he'll find a discarded idea that could work in the storyline.

He rummages through the bottom drawer and tosses a few papers and files onto the desk to be sorted.

_Frozen Heat_ outline. A few notes from some of the more intriguing cases they've worked in the last two years. A copy of the earliest draft of _Naked Heat_, edits and frantic notes scribbled throughout.

And then, something that doesn't quite belong at all.

He sucks in a breath, slides the packet from its manila envelope.

Petition for divorce.

He flips through the pages, legal jargon swimming through his head. He slices his thumb across the edge of one of the last pages, staining the corner with a drop of blood. He lets out a low curse, shoves his thumb into his mouth as his eyes fall over the sheet and the spot where they're supposed to sign their names. Just the glide of a pen and it would all be over.

Just like that.

He feels the bile rise in his throat and slams his eyes closed, tossing the file back onto his desk. His hands are a little shaky at the arms of his chair as he gets out of his chair.

He needs a shower, maybe some food.

Yeah. Just a slice of dry toast and a banana or something.

He shuffles to his bathroom, a little slow, a little heavy, his thumb forgotten at his side. He peels off his clothes, his feet bare and cold against the tiled floor. He flicks on the light, his hand heavy and sluggish.

When he shuts the door, his eyes are drawn to the light switch, a little slick with the blood from his thumb. He grits his teeth, his stomach rolling as he braces himself against the sink.

He needs to get a grip.

He's going out with her on a date today.

Lunch, Castle. A date with your wife.

But then his knees are buckling as his hands scramble for the white porcelain, releasing a slow, dry heave. The tears are ready this time, slow and burning as they fall down his cheeks.

He just wants her back.

Just needs everything to be okay again.

* * *

He's fiddling with the buttons on his blue shirt, a little calmer, a little steadier, when he hears her knock on the door.

"Come in!" he calls, making a face as he does so. He'd much rather be at the door to greet her, but he's pants-less at the moment and isn't going to make her wait at the door while he stumbles into a pair of jeans.

He hears the familiar click of her heels against the floor as she nears.

"Castle?" she asks hesitantly, her voice traveling through the doorway of his office.

"I'll be right out," he says, shoving his feet quickly into a dark pair of jeans. He grabs his shoes, a little breathless, and opens his bedroom door.

"Hey. Sorry, I was just—" The words die in his throat at the sight of her, stiffly bent at the corner of his desk, her hand slowly sliding away from a spot next to his laptop.

He swallows. He never put them away, did he?

But she's got her poker face on, turning to him with a smile that's too wide to be genuine. "Ready to go?" she asks, her voice high and wavering.

He closes his eyes, steadies himself against the doorframe. "Kate, it's not—"

"Castle, it's fine. Really." She's smiling still, but her eyes are full that way that tugs on his heart.

He steps closer to her, takes a shaky breath. "They've been sitting at the bottom of my desk. Found them today when I was going through the old Nikki Heat outlines." He shakes his head. "I can't even look at them, Kate. They make me sick to my stomach," he rasps.

Her hand finds its way to his arm, warm and reassuring. "Let's just forget about this for today, Castle. Just spend the day with me. The two of us," she suggests softly, her fingers squeezing just a little.

He exhales slowly on a nod, lets himself cover her hand with his. He resists the urge to link their fingers together, settles for a small squeeze before he lets his hand drop to his side.

It's not until he follows her out of his office that he lets himself fully take her in. She's got on his favorite pair of dark jeans (did she wear them for _him?_ ) and a white sweater that wraps around her, soft and gorgeous.

And yeah, she looks pretty spectacular in that red trench coat, too.

"You look really nice today," he says, slipping his feet into his shoes. Nice really isn't the right adjective at all and it feels foreign and stupid on his tongue, but he's afraid of giving her too much, in case he has to take it all back.

But she only tugs on her lip through a gentle smile, her eyes light. "You're not so bad yourself, Castle."

And then his heart is fluttering in his chest, his palms sweaty as they linger against the lip of his shoes.

Oh, boy.

* * *

**This chapter ended up being longer than I planned and I still didn't even get to the actual date part of it, so there's still a few more left after this one. I'm sure you're all terribly sad about that. ;)**

**As always, love to hear from you.**

**Liv**


	12. Chapter 11

**For Jess, who's been the most amazing friend since I've gotten to LA. She makes this city so much easier to live in.**

**Also, for Emma (FanficwriterGHC), who won't be reading this for awhile. But today's her 21st birthday, so I freely give you permission to flood her messages with birthday PMs!**

* * *

**Now**

"You hungry?" she asks as they step onto the elevator. She's leaning against the wall of the car, looking at him gently, hands tucked into the pockets of her coat.

He shrugs. "I could eat, but I'm not really hungry," he admits. His stomach is still off after this morning.

She nods once, giving him a soft smile as the elevator doors open. Her eyes flick to his and back to the parting doors, a little teasing, eyes glinting. He gets the message, heart thudding in his chest as he takes the first step, leading her out into the lobby.

"Do you wanna take my car?" he asks.

She shrugs. "If you want." And then, "But I brought the softtail," she says, raising an eyebrow, almost challenging him to deny himself a ride on her motorcycle.

He almost reaches for the keys that sit in his back pocket, but as they step into the crisp fall air, the wind ruffling her curls, he flexes his wrist and lets his hand fall back to his side. He can't deny her.

Or himself, for that matter.

He smiles. "Softtail it is."

She grins, eyes light with quiet happiness, and leads him to her bike, reaching for the sleek black helmet she bought for him last Christmas. He lifts his hands to take it from her, but then she's nudging it onto his head gently, the pads of her fingers brushing across his jaw as she secures it. He closes his eyes against the sensation, almost reaches for her hand to brush a kiss across her palm.

But then her touch is gone and she's reaching for her own helmet, tossing her long mane to the side as she slips the helmet over her head. He swings a leg over the back of the seat, sliding back to make room for her.

As she settles into her spot, his hands wrap around her waist habitually, a result of their innumerable outings together. He feels her stiffen in surprise and he considers removing his hands to find another form of support, but then she's relaxing into his grasp, almost sighing into him.

So he lets it go, gives them both this moment to hold onto.

* * *

It hits him as they're cruising the open road that he has absolutely no idea where they're going. She seemed to accept his food declination without much thought, so he thinks maybe she hadn't planned any particular restaurant outing, anyway.

The ends of her hair tickle his nose, not altogether unpleasant. At all, actually. He closes his eyes, inhales deeply, relishes this moment where he can be close to her without worrying that she might think it means more than it does.

And it probably _does_ mean more, but he puts that in the back of his mind for now, wants to let her give them both this day without the heaviness weighing them down.

He brushes his thumbs against her sweater as her jacket flutters in the breeze, his fingers dancing along the edge of the front pockets of her jeans. And then she's lifting a hand away from the bars, lets her hand rest over his for the briefest of seconds, giving it a soft squeeze before she takes control again.

He lets out a breath, smiles a little against her hair.

_God_, he's missed her.

* * *

Battery Park.

"Figured we could grab a bite if we get hungry," she explains, her hair tumbling around her shoulders, perfectly mussed as she lifts the helmet from her head.

"It's great, Kate," he says sincerely. He's always loved the park in the fall—the way the leaves start to curl on the ground, the air brisk and free in his lungs. Kinda perfect.

He walks beside her, comfortable and silent as they start to weave their way through, past joggers, families, and dog owners.

"How's Alexis doing in History? I know it was giving her some trouble before."

"You haven't talked to her?" he asks, eyebrows furrowing in surprise.

While the relationship between Kate and his daughter had definitely been strained when he and Kate started seeing each other, their relationship eventually eased into a nice friendship.

And while he knows Alexis can read him like an open book, he also hasn't been forthcoming about the demise of their marriage either, especially since he's still trying to wrap his own head around everything.

"Uh," she hesitates, shaking her head a little. "She hasn't been returning my calls," she admits, tugging her lip between her teeth.

_Oh._

Well, then.

He opens his mouth to apologize, wants their friendship to continue despite the state of their marriage, but she cuts him off.

"It's okay, Castle. It wouldn't really be fair for me to expect otherwise, would it?" She lets out a breath. "You're her father, after all." She flashes him an understanding smile, but he sees the hurt that lingers in her eyes.

"She got an A on the last test. The one you helped her study for," he says, referring to the night a few weeks ago where Kate had gotten home, late as usual, to find him and Alexis at the table, poring over her notes. Exhausted though she was, she'd slipped the index cards from his daughter's fingers and quizzed her on the material.

So, yeah. Despite the way she's treated him, she's always been good to Alexis. Which he's so very grateful for.

The light fills her eyes again, but he can't help but wish that Alexis had at least thanked her.

"I'll talk to her," he says.

She shakes her head. "You don't have to do that, Castle." She pauses. "You don't owe me anything," she says quietly.

"I want to, Kate," he protests. "She doesn't know the whole story. And while I can't tell her not to be angry, she can at least be civil," he says firmly.

He watches her struggle with what she wants to say, but before he can prod her, a kickball whizzes in the air, lands a few feet away from them. Their attention is drawn to a little boy, around four, Castle thinks, running towards them, short brown curls bouncing in delight.

Kate grins, a wide smile that tips all the way to her eyes, radiating warmth. She leans over and picks up the ball, kneeling down to the little boy's height as he finally makes it over.

"Here you go, sweetie," she says softly, hands outstretched. The boy smiles a shy little smile and takes it from her before scampering off. Kate laughs a little as she watches him go, her eyes happy and—

Longing.

His heart squeezes painfully in his chest as he imagines the two of them here on a day like today, kicking a ball around with their brown-haired boy with his eyes and her smile, giggling in delight as his Mama wraps him in a big hug.

He swallows hard as he forces himself back to the present where her eyes are on him, flicking from curiosity to understanding in seconds. And then she's ducking her head, her body rising and falling uneasily.

"Kate," he rasps, bending over just slightly to his hold his hand out to her. He needs to feel her, touch her somehow, even if it's just brief and slight. She wraps her fingers around his, warm and light, and lets him pull her off the ground.

He isn't sure who initiates the hug, only that one minute he's helping her to her feet and in the next their arms are tightly wound around each other. He lets out a shaky, surprised breath as his eyes flutter closed, one of his hands sliding to the back of her head.

"God, what have I done?" she whispers, but the pain in her voice is unmistakable as her fingers press firmly into his back.

"Don't do this here, Kate," he says, canting his head to the side to speak softly into her ear. "Just supposed to be about us today, remember?" he reminds her gently.

Her fingers slide around to curl at his elbows as she leans the side of her head into his, his mouth unconsciously brushing a few inches west of her forehead.

"I'm sorry," she says roughly and he can hear the edge in her voice, feels her swallowing her tears against him. He closes his eyes, focuses on nothing but her and _them_ and _this._ "I'm so sorry for hurting you, Castle." She stutters on a shaky breath. "I'll never forgive myself for doing this to you. To _us_." Her voice breaks then and _God_, he can't take it. He—

"I love you," she sobs, her fingers tightening at his arms. And then he's giving into the urge to be closer still, turns his body so his lips are a whisper against her forehead, needs this, needs _her._

"I know you do," he whispers, his hand sliding through her hair as he pulls her to him on a sigh. "I know you do."

* * *

It's some kind of hell when both their phones go off moments later when they're still holding each other, murmuring words against each other, trying to regain their footing in a sea of people.

She pulls back reluctantly, flashes him a weak smile as they slide their phones out of their respective pockets.

Kate frowns. "Text from Espo."

Castle nods. "Me too."

Kate slides her thumb over the phone, flipping her hair to catch the phone at her ear.

"Espo, what's—No, he's here with me, we—" She makes a face as he hears Esposito cut her off. "Uh-huh." She nods, tugging her lip between her teeth before her eyes find his, soft and gentle. "Espo," she drags out slowly. "Why don't you and Ryan just give me a call when you grab him, okay? You guys can take point."

Castle cocks his head, furrowing his eyebrow in question. She holds up a finger, rolling her eyes at whatever Esposito's saying. "I know," she says quietly. "I'm sure, okay? Just keep in touch." And then she hangs up, sighing as she flashes him a smile.

"Wanna grab some lunch? Maybe hitch a ride on one of those boats?" she asks, nudging her head towards the water.

He lets her lead them away from their spot for a minute before his curiosity gets the better of him. "What was that about?"

She doesn't hesitate. "They found Maddox."

He freezes. "_What?"_

She nods slowly, halts her path, too. "They finally tracked down the CI. Maddox is holed up somewhere in Chelsea. They're on their way to pick him up now."

"What are we still doing here? Let's go," he says urgently, shoving a thumb towards the direction they came.

But she just smiles. "They've got it, Castle." She shrugs it off. "Besides," she takes a step closer to him and boldly links her fingers with his. "This is more important," she breathes.

And it leaves him breathless, so caught off guard, that of course all he knows how to do is follow her lead.

* * *

**Thoughts?**

**Liv**


	13. Chapter 12

**Now**

* * *

She's relaxed in her spot in the boat, slipping the last bite of her hot dog into her mouth. Her head is canted towards the water and he wonders what she's thinking about, if she's trying to figure out where they're headed from here.

He flexes his fingers, wants to sweep his thumb across her jaw, slip his fingers through the soft strands of her hair, press his mouth to her ear and ask her what's on her mind.

But it's still all too much, so he takes a safer risk instead and slides his hand over hers, squeezing gently. He doesn't say anything, but he doesn't need words to know she'll respond.

She turns to him then on a quick brush of her thumb over his knuckles, a smile tipped at the corner of her lips. "Just thinking," she muses, shrugging it off with the wave of her left hand. He's struck by the way the sun catches the diamond sparkler, glinting briefly against her face. He looks down at their joined hands then and the metal that still adorns his finger.

He's never taken it off since the day she put it there.

"Hey," she says softly. His eyes snap to her worried gaze, her eyes flickering over his face. "You okay?"

"Just thinking," he parrots. But it's true.

She laughs a tiny, tinkling laugh that runs down his spine and into his toes.

They're silent for a moment after that, but he can't help but smile at the ease of it all.

"Too bad it's too cold for a swim," he says slyly.

He isn't disappointed. She raises an eyebrow, lips pursed in that way when she's trying to suppress her smile. "A swim, huh? That's not quite how I remember it."

"Really?" He acts surprised. "We were sitting here just like we are now. You had on that yellow sundress and those flippy sandals that never stayed on your feet."

She rolls her eyes as he makes a face.

"And you were sweating, remember? Just pouring off your face, so you just decided to go for it, clothes and all. I was really shocked that an officer of the law would just bend the rules like that."

Her jaw drops. "That is _not_ what happened. You threw me in, Castle."

"Me? Come on, Beckett. Does that sound like something I would do?" He cocks his head, as if it's the most ridiculous thing he's ever heard.

She shakes her head, narrowing her eyes as she gently shoves her body into his. He wraps his arms around her reflexively and she falls a little, her nose brushing his cheek. He lets out a little gasp and it would be so easy to shift, to just let his mouth slip over hers, just for a second—

But she saves him, pulling away so he doesn't have to overanalyze it later, doesn't have to tell her that he's still…not ready? Which doesn't make any goddamn sense since they're _married_, but yeah, he needs time to figure things out. Time to wait her out, see what her next move is.

She keeps a hand on his knee, tugging a strand of hair behind her ear as a slight blush tinges her cheeks. His heart clenches in his chest and he's almost positive he hasn't made her blush like that since they first started dating.

His eyes flit to her mouth, waiting for her other tell to make itself known. And then her teeth are gently tugging at her lip as she ducks her head a little.

"You're really adorable when you do that," he blurts out.

Her eyes shine in wonderment and curiosity. "Do what?"

He hesitates. "You have this thing about biting your lip."

She lifts an eyebrow. "I do?"

He laughs. "Yeah. Drives me crazy."

Her eyes dim and she falters, misinterpreting his words.

"No, I didn't mean—" He lets out a breath. Now he's all flustered. "In a good way, Kate," he says softly.

"Yeah?" she asks, her mouth curving into a small grin. He chuckles a little in response, almost expects her to do it again—

And then _his_ phone interrupts them. He sighs and slips it out of his pocket, thinks maybe it's Alexis, but Esposito's name flashes across his screen.

"Castle," he answers.

"Bro, is Beckett still with you? I think she turned her phone off or somethin'."

Castle covers the mouthpiece with his hand. "It's Esposito. Did you shut your phone off?"

She nods. "I didn't want any more interruptions. Whatever is can wait," she says quietly.

He stills at her words, at her body language, at all the ways she's surprised him the last few days.

"Castle, you there?"

He snaps out of his daze, clearing his throat. "Yeah, I'm here. What's up?"

"Look, I know you two are doing your thing, but we need Beckett here. She's the only one he'll talk to."

Castle's eyebrows lift. "You've got him?"

"Sitting in Interrogation 1 as we speak." He's a little edgy on his side and Castle wonders how much trouble Maddox is giving them at the 12th. From what Kate has told him, he's deduced that Maddox is colder and more calculating than any character he could come up with.

He shivers.

"We'll be there within the hour," he replies, doesn't miss the way Kate's head whips to his, confused and a little hurt.

"Thanks, man. Owe you one."

He ends the call, pocketing his phone. "We _have_ to go, Kate. You're the only one he'll talk to."

Kate rolls her eyes. "He'll still be in the box in a few hours, Castle. He's not goin' anywhere. They've got plenty they can hold him on."

Castle cocks his head and he's really having a hard time getting a grasp on this situation right now. "You're serious right now?"

But now she's looking like she kinda wants to shoot him. "You're kidding me, right?" she huffs, scraping a hand over her face. "You're so goddamn infuriating sometimes," she lets out on a breath.

He leans away a little, slightly taken off-guard. But then her hand is squeezing his knee, a reminder that she's still keeping him close.

She shakes her head, the bounce of her hair shielding her face from his view. "Sorry," she rasps. "I just—" She exhales, shaky and wavering. "Just tell me what to do." She shifts and the sunlight catches her face, tracks the descent of the tears down her cheeks.

Jesus Christ.

She sweeps her fingers under her eyes before she meets his gaze again. "Whatever you want me to do, Castle. I'll do it."

He closes his eyes, the weight of her words slamming him in the chest. Because—_God_, this is not what he wants.

He musters up his strength, searching for the words he needs to say. "I've only ever wanted who you are, Kate. No more. No less." He sighs. "But this case?" He shakes his head. "It's taken one facet of who you are and turned the voltage up, gave you such a shock that you forgot every other part of you." He swallows, reaching over to take her hand in his. "So what I'm asking is to finish this with you. So I can help you remember." He pauses, swiping his thumb over her the back of her hand, rhythmic and soothing. "And maybe that was my mistake the first time. Staying away."

"You shouldn't have to help me swim, Castle," she says gently.

"That might be true," he agrees. "But that doesn't mean I'm gonna let you sink, either," he says quietly.

And then he lets himself lean into her again, fills himself up with her as she brushes a hand against his cheek, presses a soft kiss to the other.

"C'mon, Castle," she says softly. "Let's go catch us some bad guys."

* * *

**One more after this one. Probably be a good deal longer.**

**Liv**


	14. Chapter 13

**There's a detail that I used from the premiere in this confrontation, but for the most part, it's completely different.**

* * *

**Now**

She's calm as they ride the elevator up, almost the picture of cool and collected. Her eyes are a little distant, though, and he can tell that she's already thinking, strategizing, picturing herself in the box with Maddox, working up a plan of attack.

Just before the doors open, she snags his hand for a quick squeeze before dropping it to flash him a reassuring smile as they stroll into the bullpen, ready to put this nightmare behind them once and for all.

Esposito's at her other side as soon as she steps into his view. "He's on ice in Interrogation One."

She nods shortly. "He hasn't said anything?"

"He only opened his mouth long enough to say that you're the only one he'll speak to," he replies grimly.

They stop at her desk long enough for her to toss her jacket over her chair before they're moving again, the rest of the bullpen milling around them, going about their regular day.

Castle swallows hard and takes a deep breath, hangs back so that he's trailing after his wife and the Hispanic detective. Their voices buzz in his ear, swim in his head, inaudible and noisy.

It hits him all of a sudden. She'll be in there with the man who tried to take her life. Several times.

His stomach rolls at the thought.

Her eyes swing back to him for a second, softening in her concern. He opens his mouth to say something, croak that he's fine, but the words never come. Her gaze slides reluctantly away from his as she motions for Esposito to head into the observation room.

And then she's on him, her hands warm and firm at his cheeks as she softly presses her mouth to his. He leans back a little in surprise; she's never been one for displays of affection, especially in the precinct.

But hell, he needs this just as much as she does.

His hand slips through her hair, his thumb brushing her ear as his other hand tugs her close. She sighs into him, her hands resting on the collar of his shirt as her nose brushes his cheek.

His hands wrap her in tight hug as she lets out a warm breath against his skin.

"No matter what happens," she starts, "No matter what he says," she shakes her head. "This is _done,_ Castle, okay?"

He closes his eyes, resting his chin on her head. "Okay," he breathes.

They stand still for a moment, silent, breathing each other in before she slips out of his embrace, scraping her thumb along his jaw.

"You comin' in there with me?" she asks, the light catching her eyes.

He hesitates, wonders if maybe this is something she has to do alone, _should _do alone, but—

No, he promised her. Together.

Even if it means he sits at the table silently while she does her thing.

"No place I'd rather be," he says softly. She responds with a quiet smile, tips her head towards the room to get them moving. He follows her, his feet a little heavy, sluggish. He grips the doorknob tight in his hand as she slides inside, out of view.

He inhales a stuttering breath and steps inside, shutting the door behind him.

"Maybe I wasn't clear, Detective, but I only agreed to speak to you," Maddox says, agitated eyes flicking from Castle and back to her.

Castle ignores him, pulls out his usual chair and sits down.

"On the contrary, Mr. Maddox. You were perfectly clear." She pauses, leaning her body against the wall, arms folded. "But you're in my house now and I'll be the one calling the shots."

Castle almost beams at her sharp tone. Can't help but marvel at her control.

"That's an interesting perspective, considering the fact that I'm holding all the cards right now," Maddox mocks. He doesn't wait for her to take the bait. "Then again, maybe I've underestimated your interest in this case. Couldn't even be bothered to arrest me yourself." He pauses. "Tell me, what do you think your mother would say about that?"

To her credit, Kate doesn't flinch a centimeter. "This may be hard to believe, but I do have higher priorities than the whereabouts of a cold-blooded killer."

"You know, some might call that foolish. Especially with your life hanging precariously in the balance," he drawls.

Castle clenches his fists under the table, can't help but picture the bastard behind a long rifle, aiming for her behind the cover of a cement stone.

She shrugs. "Some might. But I know of a few people who would disagree with you." Her eyes flit ever so briefly towards Castle, who really just wants to forget Maddox right now and drag Kate home and never let her go.

But. Well, first things first.

"Now," she says, propelling off the wall with a soft kick, "We can continue to play games, Mr. Maddox, or we can both get on with our lives after you tell me who you're working for."

It's a terribly long shot and he knows Kate doesn't believe for a second that he's just going to spill his guts because he's trapped in an interrogation room with cuffs slapped on his wrists, but Castle gives her points for making the effort, anyway.

Maddox's face twists into a cold smile. "Now where's the fun in that?"

Kate settles down on the edge of the table, just enough to get into his face. "Do you enjoy doing this little dance? Circling your prey, waiting to get the drop on them? Waiting for one of us to let our guard down so you can grab that file you've been _itching_ to get your hands on?"

Maddox cocks his head. "Smith is dead, Detective. Has been for a while now. Why would I kill him if I hadn't managed to get that file myself?"

"I'm under no assumptions about the level of your intelligence. Maybe you're not a smart guy," Beckett lifts a hand and Castle suppresses a chortle, is almost entertained by the way she's handling herself.

Impressive.

"But if I was a betting woman, I'd say that you probably didn't mean to kill him. Torture him, sure, but his death was an accident. He led you astray, maybe to a fake location. But once you'd figured it out, it was already too late. He was dead."

"You sound pretty sure of yourself," he sneers.

"Oh, I am," she confirms. And then she's leaning in, inches from his nose. "Because if you had that file, I have no doubt that you would've killed me _ages _ago."

Castle shudders at the truth laced in her words.

"So here's what we're gonna do," She slides off her spot on the table, starts her slow pace around the room. "You don't have the file. _I _don't have the file. And, well," she lets out a mirthless laugh, "since your boss has managed to have everyone associated with this case dead, the odds of either of us finding it are slim to none, wouldn't you say?" She pauses behind her chair, wrapping her fingers around the metal bar.

"So you can either cut a deal with the DA and tell me what I wanna know, or you can rot in prison, where I have no doubt that your life expectancy will decrease dramatically."

Maddox scoffs. "You don't have enough evidence to put me away for a month, let alone for the rest of my life."

Beckett raises an eyebrow and stomps back toward the one-way mirror, gives it a soft rap as she stares him down, her gaze cold and hard.

The door swings open and Ryan steps in, slipping a folder into her hands before making a swift exit.

"You slipped up, Mr. Maddox, or do you prefer your given name, Cedric Marks?" She tosses the folder onto the table with a loud slap, perches her hands on top, her body leaning over the chair.

"In that file is a list of three men who hired you to clean up their messes. You'd be surprised by how quickly people can turn on you when they're staring down the barrel of a gun and looking at a life sentence. All of these men have already made deals in exchange for their testimony against you."

She licks her lips. "So you can either cooperate or take your chances at trial. Either way, you've already wasted enough of my time today. So if you decide to roll on your boss, Detectives Ryan and Esposito _will_ be the ones to take your statement. And if not, we'll be moving you to central booking within the hour."

Castle looks to her to see if she'll wait him out, indulge him in an icy staring contest, but she turns away without a glance back, glances her fingers across Castle's shoulders, a gesture for him to follow her out of the room.

"Kate," he says, lifting out of his chair to scramble after her. He closes the door behind them. "Aren't you going to wait to see what he says? He could roll on the guy." He pauses. "He could give up your mom's killer, Kate."

"Mark my words, Castle. I _will_ be the one to arrest the bastard if Maddox makes that choice, but—"

He raises an eyebrow. "But?"

"But the man who killed my mom will still be that man tomorrow." She steps closer to him. "I'm sick of letting this case dictate my life, Rick. It's time for _me_ to take control and start calling the shots." She lets out a breath, lifts her hand to rest against his arm. "And right now I just wanna go home."

They're interrupted when the boys spill out of the observation room, deep in discussion.

"Hey," she says, craning her head to get their attention. "Castle and I are gonna head home. I'll be back in the morning—"

"_We'll_ be back in the morning," he interrupts.

He doesn't miss the slight hitch in her breath or the way her fingers tighten on his arm. She swallows, her mouth twitching a smile away. "Anyway," she clears her throat. "Call me if he flips and we'll get this guy first thing tomorrow."

Ryan and Esposito exchange glances. "And if he doesn't?" Ryan asks.

She takes a deep breath and he can tell she's trying to be okay with that idea, trying to prepare herself for the worst. She gives them a small smile. "Another day, another murder, right?"

* * *

He trails after her as they make their way back to her motorcycle, cloaked in thoughtful silence. He can tell she's a little shaken; her spine is straight—strong—but the way she dips her head and pulls the sleeves of her coat across her wrist with shaky fingers gives her away.

"You okay?" he asks, sidling up to her.

"I will be," she promises, flashing him a heart-stopping smile. "You wanna grab something to eat before I drop you off?"

Dropping him—

Oh, when she said they were going home, he—but, yeah, she would go back to her apartment, wouldn't she?

But he—

Oh, but he _needs_ her.

"Castle?" She raises an eyebrow in question.

"Come home, Kate," he blurts out.

She startles, opens her mouth to say something before closing it once more. "I—" she lets out a breath. "Are you sure this is what you want, Castle? I don't want to push you into this. That wasn't my intention when I asked you to spend time with me today," she tells him.

He swallows. "I know it wasn't, but seeing you in there with Maddox—" He breaks off, shaking his head. "It might take me a long time to trust you again, but I need to try again. Because—" he sighs. "Because living without you is worse than the hell they've put us through, Kate."

Her fingers find his hand. "You mean the hell _I _put us through, Castle. You can say it."

He gives her a weak smile. "You just did."

She pulls him to her, sliding her palm against his cheek as she leans her head into his. "I will spend the rest of our life together making this up to you," she murmurs against his lips. "Starting now," she rasps, capturing his mouth in a searing kiss.

* * *

**The next (aka LAST) chapter is purely M, so if that's not your thing, I leave you here. It'll be up sometime tomorrow hopefully.**

**Let me know your thoughts. Even if you aren't satisfied, I wanna know. You guys are wonderful for taking a chance on this kind of story and I'll be forever grateful for your interest and your kind words.**

**I may continue Kate's companion at some point (labeled "Quicksand" in my profile) and I may also write another companion at some point, which would take place in the future during happier times. I'm working on finishing up my other story and I have a fun collab in the works, but I have no plans for starting a full-length story soon.**

**Liv**


	15. Chapter 14

******Thanks to Kate Christie for looking over this one.**

* * *

**Now  
**

She's all over him as soon as they step through the door. He grapples with the door, his ankle colliding with the edge as she attacks his mouth, her lips warm and pliant.

"God, I've missed you," she breathes against his mouth, her hands sliding under the cover of his coat, pushing it from his shoulders. He shrugs out of it, shaky fumbling hands that slip around her waist and cradle the back of her head, desperate and yearning.

They start the endless walk back to their bedroom, fingers slipping, gliding, touching. It can never be enough, he thinks, making up for all the time they've missed. She yanks his shirt from the confines of his pants, trapping his body between hers and the lip of the doorway to their room. His palms find her bottom, and he needs her closer, oh so closer.

He moans into her mouth as her smoldering hands slip under his shirt to roam his bare skin. His hand slides to her thigh and presses against her, lifting her leg to hook around his hip. She gasps, wet and hot against his cheek, her nails scraping his skin as he rolls his hips into hers.

"Oh, Castle—" She shudders against him, her hands faltering at his sides. He takes advantage of her weakened state and lifts her into his arms easily, kicking the door closed behind him.

She latches her mouth onto his neck, nipping softly at that spot under his ear that drives him crazy. He squeezes her thighs in response and she lets out a low, throaty chuckle.

"Payback for that little move back there, Buster," she rasps, her tongue curling around the shell of his ear. He smiles, a soft thing that wants to spill out of him, cloak them in the joy of their reunion. He lays her down on their bed, a mutter of protest escaping her mouth as their top halves separate.

His hands find their way to either side of her head, content to stare at her, swollen lips, mussed hair, the brightest eyes he's seen in months. She swallows, her eyes steady under his unflinching gaze, content to let him have his fill. She lifts a hand to his cheek, brushing the pads of her fingers against his stubble.

"I love you so much, Castle." Her mouth tips in a watery smile as her thumb smoothes over his bottom lip. His hand wraps around her wrist and he presses his lips to her palm before bowing his body over hers, kissing the sadness from her perfect pink mouth. His hands find the tie on her sweater, parting it with nimble fingers, pulling it from her chest.

His hand quests over her quivering stomach, sliding under her as she arches against him with a light oh.

And then she's impatient, flicking the buttons through his shirt with shaky fingers. His palm presses further into her spine, encouraging her as his mouth glides over her collar, nipping gently at her flushed skin. Her fingers tighten in his shirt, wrenching it from his body. He rumbles a laugh, pulling away long enough to remove the garment.

She narrows her eyes at him for his laughter, her mouth twitching in a teasing smirk as she slides out of her sweater and reaches for the clasp on her bra. He feels the smile fall from his face as her fingers smooth over her shoulders, the straps slipping from her small frame before she tosses it to the floor.

He lets out a stuttering breath, still in amazement that he's got her back and they're still them and this is really happening and—

His mouth collides with hers once again, his hands cradling her jaw as he sips from her willing mouth. Her fingers scrape through his hair, clenching and anxious. "Touch me, Castle," she pants, her mouth sliding across his jaw. "Please," she breathes against his ear.

He groans, his fingers slipping from her shoulders to palm her breasts. She gasps, her head snapping to the side at the sensation. He thumbs her nipples, squeezing gently as he kisses her clavicle. He swipes his tongue against her skin, tasting her as his mouth moves down her body to meet his fingers. He teases her, nipping at the underside of her breast as her hands roam over his back, hot, scalding, impatient.

"God," she breathes, hitching a leg over his thigh so she can rock her lower half into him. He growls at the contact, rewards her by finally wrapping his mouth around her hardened peak. She whimpers low in her throat, arching her back, giving herself to him. He suckles greedily, the tips of his fingers slipping down her stomach, goose bumps alive in their wake.

His hand finds the snap in her jeans and he releases the zipper from its teeth, his fingers slow and deliberate. He releases her breast, slipping his fingers under the snug denim, pressing against the cotton of her underwear as his mouth swallows her cries.

"Such a tease," she mumbles in a pant against his mouth.

"Isn't that supposed to be my line?" He barely gets the words out before she's cupping him through his jeans, true to her reputation. He groans, can't help but buck into her touch. She chuckles, victorious, but then his fingers are fast, slipping under the elastic of her underwear to glide into her wet heat. She lets out a low hiss, her teeth colliding with his shoulder as she rocks her pelvis into his hand, slow and demanding.

"Jesus." He cranes his head to press a kiss to her forehead. She cradles his head in her hands and coaxes his mouth to hers for a soft, tender kiss.

"So close," she gasps, "but I just want you, Castle." Her body bows in a shudder as she removes his hand. He watches, mesmerized by her red lips and penetrating gaze, as she removes the last of her clothing, slipping both garments from her body.

She lifts herself to her knees, sweeping kisses across his eyelids as her fingers go to work in removing his jeans.

"I love you, Kate," he rasps in a puff of breath against her cheek. He feels her lips widen in a broad smile, happiness radiating from her being.

He reaches down to shuck his clothing, but he's a little unsteady, rocked by her touch, and he ends up toppling against her and they land with a soft thud back onto the bed.

She laughs, full and rich, shaking with it and it's infectious, catches up to him. He grins, pressing his forehead against hers as he watches the light fill her face. He lets the backs of his fingers graze her cheek, overwhelmed by her, by this, them—

Everything.

Her laugh catches in her throat, settles in her chest as his eyes sweep the length of her face. Her hands smooth over his chest, slow and steady as she circles his neck, resting easily. She rests her nose against his, leaning in to kiss him softly.

"You're all I could ever need, Castle," she murmurs, her fingers stroking the fine hairs at the back of his neck. "You're everything."

"Forever," he breathes against her lips, hooking her leg around his thigh.

And then she's loving him, lips at his cheek, sweeping under his eye, shifting under him as he finally slides home.

* * *

It's still light out when he wakes, the sun barely setting in the sky. He reaches for her, to spoon her body into his once more, but his hands are left grasping the edges of the warm sheet.

He rubs at his bleary eyes, tries to focus his vision as he sits up, the sheet pooling around his waist. Sure enough, she's sitting at the edge of his bed, her spine curved as the sheet hangs off her back, wrapped around herself as she stares out the window.

"Kate?" He slides over to her, his hand coming up to rest on her back. She lets out a breath, leaning over to rest his head on her shoulder.

"Esposito called," she says roughly.

He swallows hard. "And?" he manages.

She lifts her head then, rests her nose against his cheek. He sucks in a breath and it seems like an eternity before she answers. "We got him, Castle," she rasps, choking on a breath. "We finally got him."

**_Finis_**

* * *

**That's all she wrote. There were a lot of tears writing this, but I'm honestly sad that it's finished. Thanks again to everyone who's alerted, reviewed, prodded, and encouraged. You're all wonderful.**

**As I said in the last chapter, I'm finishing up Days of Summer and working on a collab with my dear friend FanficwriterGHC (and I'm putting this in writing to get my butt in gear on it). **

**I do think I will write a companion at some point (or continue Kate's), so if you're interested, might be wise to add me to your authors alerts. ;)**

**And, as always, dying to know what you think.**

**Liv**


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